


The Ghost in the Mirror

by CaliforniaGothic



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Danny goes to therapy, Danny is flirty, Danny's parents accept him, F/M, Jazz already knows, Mystery, Researching in the library, They're all bi because I said, Tucker loves technology, but not as a ghost, realistic ghosts, trans!Danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaGothic/pseuds/CaliforniaGothic
Summary: Danny Fenton was in the wrong place at the wrong time.The mysterious ghost of a young man appears when Danny is alone in the Casper High bathroom and wrecks the place, leaving Danny to take the blame and landing him in a world of Saturday detentions. But this ghost doesn't have a gimmick or an agenda-- in fact he isn't acting like an Amity Park ghost at all. With the help of his two best friends, Danny must solve the mystery of how this boy died, why his ghost keeps showing up, and how the two of them are linked across a distance of seventy years.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Sam Manson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	1. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny encounters a strange ghost.

Danny hugged his knees to his chest, trying to breathe through the feeling of his own pulse about to burst through his skin. He felt cold dread pooling in his stomach and the familiar sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck. He had to get home— maybe he could get his mom to pick him up or, even better, to call the school and let him walk home. But she was always busy at the lab and might not see his text, or worse she might ask him what was wrong.

Just as Danny’s frantic thoughts chased each other, whipping themselves into a fearful hurricane, an enormous crash rang through the bathroom, echoing off the tiled walls. Danny jumped as the plastic dividers splintered, one support beam almost falling onto him.

In an instant, his mounting panic evaporated and he pressed his eyes closed, willing himself to move into his ghost form. It came as easy to him now as a snake shedding its skin. 

He rose to the ceiling, floating above the wreckage of the first and second stalls. One urinal was half-smashed and pumping out a weak stream of water. A small, frightened-looking ghost in the form of a young man glared up at him in the mirror, seemingly unaware of the wreckage. He had a mop of golden hair and wide set blue eyes. If he hadn’t been slightly transparent, Danny could have sworn that those eyes were red-rimmed, like the boy had been crying. 

A couple of sharp one-liners floated through Danny’s head (“this day has really gone down the toilet” chief among them), but he bit them back. This boy didn’t look menacing. He looked scared.

Danny realized as he floated left that the boy wasn’t even glaring at him— he was just glaring at the mirror. Perhaps at his own reflection. He didn’t even seem to see Danny. He bent over the sink, making motions of splashing his face with water, though of course the water couldn’t touch his pale skin. Then the boy gave a deep and keening sob into his hands. Danny was taken aback and opened his mouth to call out, but the boy’s head jerked suddenly upward and he glanced to the door as if someone had come in. Danny could see the look of panic cross his face and he looked too, but of course the door was still closed. There was no one there but the two of them. 

The ghost boy’s spine stiffened and Danny could almost hear him grit his teeth. Then he took a sudden and unbalanced step back. “Don’t touch me!” He cried, and then let loose a powerful scream that sent Danny slamming back into the wall. He was so shocked he didn’t phase through it, and he felt his head crack against the cold tile, chipping it.

When Danny woke, he was in his human form, buried in a heap of rubble. His shoes and butt were wet from the gushing urinal and the ghost was no longer there. Instead, Mr. Lancer stood over him, one vein bulging his beet-colored forehead. 

“Fenton,” he said, Danny’s name almost couldn’t escape Lancer’s clenched jaw, “Office.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fan-fiction kind of outlined itself. I will be updating regularly because every time i sit down to write something else, this story possesses my hand (pun intended).


	2. Big Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Principal's office for Danny.

“I swear I had nothing to do with it,” Danny cried again, interrupting the principal’s stream of numbers (damages) and a list of Danny’s suspicious activities at school (lurking, disappearing, reappearing in the aftermath of school-wide disasters). Not to mention his subpar class performance over the previous year.

“One minute I was in the bathroom and the next I was waking up in a puddle of toilet water. I am an innocent bystander— not even a bystander— a by-layer.” Maddie Fenton flinched, but Principal Ishiyama just rolled her eyes under her thick fringe of eyelashes. 

“Danny has been having serious issues with his attention and grades, not to mention mysterious absences since—” Here she stopped and gave Danny’s parents a look that was all eyebrows and side glances which made Danny look away, face red. He knew what that meant. “We want what’s best for him, but… well, sometimes disturbed children can act out in strange ways.”

“Danny isn’t disturbed just because he’s transitioned,” his mom started. Danny felt a strange mix of pride and shame in the pit of his stomach, all mixing together into a stew of hot and squirming discomfort. 

Principal Ishiyama held up her hands, palms out, “That’s not what I mean. I know Danny has had trouble in the past with… a certain group.”

Now Danny clenched his jaw so hard he thought he’d crack a tooth. He felt his parent’s eyes settle on him and their pity, their fear for him was a palpable force in the room— it took up all the air, settling around him like a thick mist. Though their eyes were upon him, he could not meet their collective gaze.

“Is that true, son?” His father asked, his deep voice rumbling. Danny wondered for a split second whether his voice would ever get so plummy— now it was more likely to crack.

“Danny,” his mother said softly, and she placed her hand on his wrist, pulling him back to the present moment. “Have the other boys been bullying you?” He could hear the again implied in her voice.

Danny squeezed his jaw tight and mustered up the most noncommittal jerk of the head he could. 

“The teachers have mentioned it to me. They have tried to put a stop to it, of course, but they have also told me that Danny hasn’t explicitly complained. He also will not name who’s responsible. There’s only so much we can do.” Her amber eyes settled on Danny, expectant, as though she was waiting for him to produce a list of names. When he made no reply, she went on: “My Lancer said that a few of the boys were laughing about something in class this afternoon and that Danny was marked absent well before the incident. Perhaps… it was something they said to you?” 

Danny wouldn’t burdge. And he wouldn’t let himself think about what happened. He squashed down the tears that threatened to pool in his eyes and thought about math— his best subject. The numbers formed a tidy pattern as he tried to recall the prime numbers under a hundred in order: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29… 

Principal Ishiyama sighed and at last her weighty gaze lifted from him.”I am going to recommend Danny attend counseling; the school contracts with an independent provider who can meet with Danny on campus and during the school hours if that’s more convenient.” She held out a card with the psychologist’s details and Danny could already see his sister researching their full qualifications. “In the meantime, I expect him to attend the next four sessions of Saturday beautification.” 

“Scraping gum off the desks every Saturday for a month?” Danny burst out. 

“Young man, you destroyed a urinal… I’m not even sure how you did it.”

“I didn’t,” Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If you behave yourself and fully commit during your campus beautification assignments and if you behave like a model student for the next month,” Principal Ishiyama went on, “I will expunge today’s vandalism from your permanent record.” 

Jack and Maddie breathed twin sighs of relief. Danny knew they were thinking of college, of the future beyond Casper High, and the roadblocks for Danny if his permanent record should sport such a damning black mark. He knew he should be to Ishiyama and take the offering for what it was— a mercy— but he couldn’t summon up the energy to be grateful for leniency on a crime he didn’t commit. 

“Gee,” he said, trying to bite down on his sarcasm, “thanks.”


	3. Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny needs to sneak out of the house, but his sister has other plans. (Scroll to the bottom for content warning.)

Danny watched the sun set a magnificent rosy orange behind a mountain of silver clouds. HIs bedroom had the best view in the whole house, he thought, and he loved to watch the sun sink into the cool black of evening— it was when he was actually free— when everyone else in the house was occupied or asleep.

When Danny first had his accident he’d thought it was the scariest thing to ever happen to him, just one more part of himself he had to hide from the world, another part of his identity to examine and worry about. And while it was still true he sometimes felt a limb go invisible or worried about his parents finding out or wondered what would happen when he died— he knew it came with its perks— freedom.

  


He lumped his pillows expertly into a Danny shape under the covers and placed a shaggy black teddy bear on the top pillow. From the other side of the room and with the lights off, it achieved a solid approximation of him sleeping in the bed, face turned toward the wall. For added effect he fished a dirty binder from the hamper and flung it onto the side of the bed like he’d just cast it off— a masterstroke of deception.

  


“Going ghost,” he whispered, though there was no one around to hear it, and changed.

  


He liked to see Danny Phantom in the mirror. Of course it was still him, but the changes were subtle and to his liking. Ghost Boy had a squarer jaw and brighter green eyes. He was perhaps an inch taller than Danny in real life, but he looked slightly more grown up, a little bulkier— like how Danny might look in a year or so. Tucker had a theory that Danny Phantom aged faster than Danny, being a ghost. But Sam thought Danny Phantom was a ghost and therefore a projection of what Danny wanted to look like, though she’d only told him that in private. Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t help but flex his arms in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door— giving himself a small, slightly flirty smile.

  


Then the door swung open.

  


Jazz stood in the doorway, a look of terror flashed across her face. Danny let out a horrified scream that came out a squeak. 

  


“Oh my God, Danny!” Jazz said, and then clamped her mouth shut.

  


“What’s wrong up there?” Their mother cried.

  


“Is it a ghost?” Their father called.

  


“It’s nothing!” Jazz said, “Danny just told me a really funny joke! Haha Danny!” She slipped into the room, closing the food behind her. Danny saw she was holding a tray of chicken parm and noodles and that their mom had gone the extra mile and made fresh cheesy garlic bread— a Maddie Fenton special that involved huge chunks of sliced garlic and oozing mozzarella. 

  


“Jazz,” Danny hissed, “Do we have to have the talk about knocking?”

  


“Sorry,” she said, moving aside stacked notebooks and opened video game packages to set the tray down on Danny’s desk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your flirt session with Danny Phantom.” She raised an eyebrow and flipped her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. 

  


“What boys I choose to court are my business,” Danny said with the little dignity he had left to him, though his face burned red even as a ghost. 

  


“Appreciating yourself in the mirror is a really healthy sign of—” Jazz began, but Danny cut her off.

  


“Can we please not talk about healthy self-esteem right now?” 

  


“Whatever you say,” Jazz’s smile faded. “Mom and dad told me what happened.”

  


Danny’s stomach did a little lurch and he felt himself flicker back to his human self without meaning to. His shoulders sagged. He didn’t want Jazz to worry about him any more than she already did, or worse— start to get more into his business than she already was. 

  


“Oh,” he said.

  


“What really happened?” She asked, keeping her voice low and gentle in that way that made Danny think she was practicing for becoming a therapist. Nevertheless, his heart soared. His sister would actually believe him— like she always did.

  


“I really didn’t do it,” he said, “it was a ghost that came into the bathroom— he just tore it up. I didn’t even get a chance to fight him.”

  


“Wow,” said Jazz, a familiar crease appearing in her forehead. “This ghost sounds pretty dangerous. Maybe it’s a little too dangerous for—”

  


“Jazz,” Danny said, giving his sister the look.

  


“You are nearly a grown man and capable of handling ghosts as you have been doing for almost a year without my help,” Jazz recited in a robotic monotone. 

  


“Thank you.”

  


Jazz stifled a smile, “I brought you dinner, grown man.”

  


Danny granted her a dazzling smile. She really was the best big sister. “Thanks, but I’ve got to catch Sam and Tucker to fill them in so we can make a plan. You know— for the ghost.”

  


“But you’re grounded,” Jazz said, her blue eyes wide.

  


“Oh no,” Danny said, shifting into his phantom form and floating a foot off the floor so he finally achieved a height advantage over Jazz, “How ever will I sneak out?” He went invisible and Jazz rolled her eyes. 

  


“Please promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.

  


“I’ll be careful.”

  


“And promise me you’ll eat something— eating disorders affect one in five trans people between the ages of—” 

  


Danny plucked a slice of garlic bread from the plate, giving the impression that the bread was floating in the air, and took a bite. “I promise,” he said, mouth full of half-chewed bread.

  


“That’s disgusting,” Jazz called after him as he flew into that gilded sunset, a ghost detector beeping somewhere below. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Mention of eating disorders in a statistic.


	4. Heroes Don't Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny visits the mall with Tucker and Sam.

Danny didn’t have to be a ghost-fighting superhero. He could have easily chosen to become the world’s most successful ghost robber; he could, after all, walk through walls, disappear, and fly. He reminded himself of this as he flew invisibly through the roof of the mall and sank through three floors of department stores, pausing to moon over the latest $200 Nikes that he could just reach out and _have_. If he wanted.

“Heroes don’t steal,” he told himself sternly, “Heroes don’t steal.”

He landed in the arcade photo booth and did a quick double take before reverting back to his regular self. He realized that he’s been hovering a bit when his butt fell hard onto the little plastic bench. 

“Ouch,” he said, quickly yanking the curtain and making a beeline for the food court. Good thing no one had seen that.

Tucker and Sam were already knee-deep in buckets of fries and had, to Danny’s delight, already ordered for him. His bucket of crispy golden fries was quickly cooling in the pumping mall AC.

“You are literally the best friends anyone could ask for,” Danny said, clapping Tucker on the back. “I’m honestly touched.”

“Oh, sir,” Sam said, allowing a fake grimace to twist her glossy purple lips, “These friends are for our friend Danny, not some juvenile delinquent.”

“Oh haha,” Danny said, sprawling out on the little metal chair, “hilarious.” He reached for the fries which Sam quickly snatched and held aloft. Then he opened his mouth wide and Sam made the shot— a perfect fry landing in his mouth.

“You couldn’t have moved that fight somewhere else? That’s the only boys’ bathroom in the English wing,” Tucker complained, “Now we’re going to have to walk all the way to the sticky floor bathroom during Lancer’s— that’s like a quarter of a mile away! I checked!” 

“Why is it the sticky floor bathroom?” Sam asked.

“Because the floor is always sticky,” Tucker said at the same time Danny said, “You don’t want to know.”

Sam smirked. “I’ll just use the ladies’.” 

“Pass,” said Danny. Sam snorted.

“So what happened?” She said, and Danny wished for a second there had been a fight just so he could but some dazzle on the details. 

“And why didn’t you ever show up to English?” Tucker said. Danny flashed him a warning look— Sam didn’t have English with them. But Tucker didn’t receive the hint, his eyes were on his tablet. “Come to think of it, where were you during passing—?”

“So a ghost came into the bathroom,” Danny said, voice low, “While I was in there. And he just wrecked the place before I could stop him.”

“Were you pooping?” Tucker asking, “Because that’s the worst.”

“Did you say ‘My day just went down the toilet?’” Sam pressed.

“What? No! No.” Danny said defensively, “No to both.” This earned him a pointed smirk from Sam as she mouthed, “yeah right.” 

“Then why were you gone for so long?” Tucker asked.

“Just listen— this was super weird. The ghost came in but it was like he didn’t even see me. He… he yelled at me but I don’t think he was talking to me at all. More like in my direction. And then he just went off— his scream literally knocked me out. When I woke up I was, you know, back to normal.” Danny tried to keep his voice low, fully aware that some girls from school were a table away.

“So you didn’t even fight him?” Tucker asked as Sam stole one of Danny’s fries which Danny tried and failed to protect.

“Get your own,” Danny grumbled.

“Yours taste better,” Sam said.

“Ahem,” Tucker said pointedly, “My question stands.”

“Oh, uh, no, I didn’t get the chance,” Danny said, thinking back to the boy in the bathroom. “It was like he was… seeing something I couldn’t. He yelled ‘don’t touch me!” but I was nowhere near him. And he jerked back like someone had pushed him.” 

“Another ghost? An invisi-ghost?” Tucker offered. 

“Do ghosts usually fight each other?”” Sam said thoughtfully, “Besides, you know,” she gestured at Danny, “this situation.” She pursed her purple glossed lips.

“I’m not a _situation_ ,” he said sullenly. “But yeah, I don’t really see ghosts go _mano a mano_.

“Oh, that Spanish though,” Tucker said, “Ay bilingual papi.”

Danny threw a fry at his face. “We need to figure out a plan. Usually ghosts kind of… I don’t know, act the same. They all have a gimmick or like a thing they want. This one doesn’t really fit the pattern.”

“Fit the pattern,” Sam said in a low imitation of Danny’s voice, swirling another one of his fries in a mountain of ketchup. “What are you, a cop?”

“Don’t be gross, Sam.” Tucker said.

“Ghost cop,” Sam teased.

“For real,” Danny pressed on, rolling his eyes,” There was something different about him. It almost looked like he had been crying.”

At this, Sam stopped painting her lining with ketchup and her violet eyes met Danny’s. Her gaze was so thoughtful that he had to fight the urge to look away. “Well, most of the ghosts we meet, their whole deal is based on what they wanted in life or how they died. Maybe we need to look into this ghost— figure out how he died. Maybe that would give us a clue about what he wants.”

“We can start with the school,” Danny said, nodding. He liked to have a concrete plan of action. “Maybe he died there. Tucker, can you find out how old—”

“1912,” said Tucker, already on his tablet. The blue and green light lent his face a ghostly glow. “Casper high began operation, but it looks like there was a fire in 1930 and the campus closed for a few years while it was rebuilt… it looks like some kids might’ve died but the newspapers only go back so far…” He frowned. “Stupid non-digital records!” 

“What time period did the ghost look like it was from?” Sam asked. “Did you see anything distinctive? Like a haircut or shoes?” 

“Danny doesn’t check out ghosts,” Tucker said.

“You don’t have to check someone out to see their shoes,” Sam said. 

“No one is checking out ghosts,” Danny grumbled. He closed his eyes, trying to conjure up the picture of the boy in the bathroom. He could recall his thin, pale face twisted in fear, his dark blond hair— longish but neatly combed back. And his wide brown eyes— tears threatening to spill over. 

“He was a white kid. Maybe sixteen? A white collared shirt?” He heard himself say. “Nothing comes to mind. He was just an average kid. Could’ve been anyone.” He watched the girls from school leave their table, emptying their red trays out into the trash cans. Would they haunt Casper High when they died? Would he?

“So maybe we hit the library Saturday and mess around with the microfiche— check out the news and records of Casper High students who died violently or mysteriously,” Sam said.

“Ugh,” Tucker said, cradling his table. “That sounds gross.”

“I can’t,” Danny groaned, “I forgot to tell you. I’m grounded with no phone for two weeks _and_ I have Saturday Beautification for a _month_.” Sam patted his back. Tucker let out a low whistle. 

“Well Tuck and I can go,” she said and Tucker made a clucking noise of disbelief. “In the meantime we can go to the Casper library tomorrow after school and check out the yearbooks— maybe we can find your ghost guy.” Sam’s pocket buzzed and her eyes flicked over the screen before she handed it to Danny, laughing. 

At first he saw his own face squished between Sam and Tucker’s— Sam’s background was a picture of them at a school dance just before it had been overtaken by Danny’s date, who happened to be a ghost dragon at the time. He tried not to smile as a warm, floaty feeling filled his stomach. And then he saw the text from JAZZ FENTON: Please tell D not to stay out too late. And to eat something. 

Danny handed the phone back to Sam and gently set his forehead on the greasy mall table. 

“Why is your sister telling you to eat? Does she think you’ll forget?” 

“Because she’s the most annoying person ever,” Danny said into the table. 

“Ugh, not more annoying than Dash. You should have seen him today. He wouldn’t shut up in Lancer’s.” Tucker cut it. Heart racing, Danny shot up. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him and so he waited a second before he spoke, willing his voice to stay even.

“He’s an ass,” he said flatly. 

“Where were you during sixth anyway?” Sam asked, but Danny just shrugged. He watched Tucker and Sam exchange a brief glance and then decide in their telepathic way not to press the issue further. Internally, Danny breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t need any more on his plate than he already had.


	5. Research Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and friends hit the books. The yearbooks. 
> 
> Scroll to the end for a content warning.

The Casper High library had an entire section of class yearbooks (“Annuals” Tucker announced with distaste, recoiling at the thick layer of dust covering the faded gold lettering) dating back to 1938. Their large, colorful spines took up an entire set of shelves in the back stacks where Danny, Tucker, and Sam had assembled a little research station out of a low table meant for much younger children. Forbidden hot chips were hidden in the clandestinely unzipped front pockets of their backpacks which were strewn across the tabletop. Post-its had been located. Tucker put away his tablet with a small, stifled sob of parting.

“Oh, this is interesting,” Sam said, reading from the dedications page of the 1969 yearbook, “It looks like one of the students died on his way to some protest in New York— sort of a hippie-looking kid.” She flipped the open book around to show Danny, who looked up from Tucker's phone, squinting. 

The boy had long blond hair that fell in waves down his shoulders and a long, rather pointed noise. His T-shirt only lacked a peace sign. “No,” Danny said, “It’s not him. He definitely had shorter hair. Longish short?” He held his own hair up as if to demonstrate. Sam slapped his shoulder with a book.

“Hey, this is _your_ ghost,” she said, gesturing to the phone Danny was clutching and the 1953 yearbook that lay face down on his lap.

“Okay, okay,” Danny said, switching off the phone. “My parents took my phone for two weeks and I haven’t been able to play Candy Crush in over twenty-four hours.” Sam rolled her eyes, but Danny caught a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Today she had opted for a lavender lip gloss that matched her velvety choker. The pastel goth vibe made Danny think of Easter candy and fuzzy animals.

“What?” Sam said, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh,” Danny said, looking down at his yearbook as he blushed furiously, “Nothing. I mean— I like your new lip gloss.” He didn’t have the guts to look up and see how Sam had taken that.

“You never notice _my_ fashion choices,” Tucker complained, instantly cutting the tension.

“Maybe he would if you made any,” Sam said. 

The minutes ticked by and Danny scanned pages and pages of fresh-faced freshman transformed into hulking seniors with quotes like “We did it!” and “Follow your dreams!” He looked at every blondish guy from 1963 to 1968, scrutinizing every face until they started to blur together and he began to wonder whether he could even remember the ghost’s face. But when he closed his eyes, the image of that crying boy was waiting there. And none of these kids were him. 

“Hey,” said Tucker, looking up from his book, “This is weird.” 

“Shh!” The librarian, Ms. Pixler said, materializing from behind the stacks. Tucker jumped.

“He was whispering,” Sam pointed out. Pixler glared at her, one crooked finger over her lips as she glided away, back toward the help desk.

“Danny, is she a ghost? You can tell me.” Tucker whispered, shuddering. “When she just appears like that it gives me the heebie jeebies. How does she _do_ that? 

Danny snickered and accepted the 1950 volume from Tucker. The book was open to a spread of sophomores, a bunch of preppy-looking girls with high ponytails and guys with slicked-back hair. But Danny didn’t have to ask Tucker what was weird— his attention was immediately drawn to one picture in particular— a boy whose eyes had been crossed out with faded black marker. His name had been marked out too in a thick slash of ink and underneath the vandal had written FAGGOT in all caps. Danny winced and passed the book to Sam, who already held her hand outstretched.

“Good to know assholes haven’t changed in seventy years,” Sam said in a sigh of disgust, “Is it him?”

“It could be him,” Danny said, he rose and found the 1951 volume. He flipped the pages until he came to the juniors, scanning down the rows of faces until he saw him— he recognized his blond hair, a little longer in this picture, and his large eyes. They showed up gray in the photo, of course, but Danny knew they were a piercing blue. He wore a pale shirt and was smiling in a way that didn’t touch his eyes. 

This book had been vandalized as well, but this time the jerk had written FAG in smeared blue pen over the boy’s name so it was easy for Danny to make it out: Peter Bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Mentions of bullying, use of the word f*gg*t.


	6. Saturday Beautification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has Saturday detention. Scroll down for content warning.

VI. Saturday Beautification

Danny’s mom dropped him off at Saturday Beautification with her lips tightly pursed. She handed him a lunch bag full of what Danny sensed were bologna sandwiches made in anger.

“Be here at 5pm exactly, young man,” she told him firmly. “Not a second later.”

“Yes mom,” Danny said, shutting the door of the Fenton mobile and stepping quickly back as she peeled off like a bat out of hell. Danny winced as she merged into traffic and immediately started honking at an elderly woman in a corolla.

When he arrived at Casper High to serve his Saturday sentence, he found it was just him and Mr. Veldez, the school custodian. Apparently, there weren’t enough delinquents this week that compared to Danny. 

My Veldez regarded him with warily, which Danny felt was justified given that he supposedly destroyed a school bathroom and probably made a bunch of work for the guy. Danny felt suddenly guilty though he knew he’d had nothing to do with it. Mr. Veldez led Danny to the English wing hallway where all the doors had already been unlocked. Danny was just accepting the rubber gloves and the gum scraper with what he was trying to pass off as calm surrender when he heard a voice that made his stomach turn.

Dash removed his sunglasses and sipped his frappuccino, noisily sucking up whipped cream with his straw. “Sorry I’m late— Hey Fentention— figures you’d be here too.”

Danny’s spine stiffened at Dash’s grating voice. He turned around very slowly and gave the other boy a stiff nod. Mr. Veldez’s eyes looked from Dash to Danny and a wrinkle of apprehension formed on his brow. 

“You’re on gum duty,” he told Dash, handing him another scraper. “No talking,” he added sternly, “they don’t pay me enough for that.” He turned back toward the gym, pushing the power waxer in front of him. 

Danny did not give Dash the satisfaction of glancing nervously at him. Instead, he watched Dash from the corner of his eye. He waited for Dash to set down his frappuccino on the teacher’s desk— allowing a little ring of condensation to form on the oak finish— and noisily flip a desk over before Danny chose the desk closest to the door and began his own work. 

The worst gum, Danny soon found, didn’t come in the form of the hard old pieces that took a bit of elbow grease to scrape off— Danny had elbow grease to spare. It turned out it was the fresh ones that were the worst— they were soft and sticky and made Danny gag if he thought about it for too long.

Every once in a while Danny would risk looking up to make sure Dash wasn’t watching before turning the gum intangible with his powers. It took a fair bit of concentration not to disappear the whole desk, but Dash was busy grumbling over his own work and didn’t notice Danny’s one slip up.

When he got to the last desk in the row— the halfway mark that divided him and Dash— he went to try his trick again, but this time Dash caught him looking. His face cracked into a slow smile— a cat spotting a mouse.

“What?” He spat. “See something you like, Fenton?” 

This was an old one with Dash— that Danny was gay. Of course someone who couldn’t tell the difference between left and right couldn’t distinguish the difference between gender and sexuality. In all fairness, Danny _was_ bi, but come on. 

“Just checking to see how many desks are left,” Danny said, trying to keep his voice even and bland. Dash, like all assholes, fed off any sign of emotion. A raised voice or a glimmer of a blush would be like blood to a shark. 

“Good think you’re so fast at this, Fenton,” Dash said, “Seeing as a life of menial work is your destiny and all.”

“Wow, tell your classist jokes to Mr. Veldez,” Danny said, and he was proud of how calm his voice sounded. “I’m going to move onto the other room, it’ll be faster if we split up.” More like it would be the only way Danny would get through the day.

Dash went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “Not that they’d let freaks like you work at a school.”

“Okay, going,” Danny said with a quick wave. If he didn’t get out of there he was going to engage— and that inevitably made things worse. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him— not here. Not again. It always made things worse. And this time, his permanent record depended on it. 

Danny took refuge in the classroom furthest away from Dash and got to work on the desks. Using his powers freely, it only took about half the time. He was almost finished with the room when he mistakenly tried to experiment with using ectoplasm to blast the gum off the desk. This succeeded only in making a separate mess that somehow involved the gunk sticking to the window and knocking over a pile of important-looking folders from a bookshelf that Danny only half-heartedly tried to rearrange. The ectoplasm splashed across the window glowed a faint and unpleasant green. Danny trudged to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. 

The boys’ room was still taped off with caution tape (dramatic, Danny felt) and an out of service sign. The girls’ was right next to it and, theoretically, Danny could just pop in (no one else was here anyway and Danny was allowed to use whatever bathroom he felt safest using, according to school policy) But if Dash saw him coming out of the girls’ room, well, Danny really didn’t need that. He ducked under the tape and pushed through the swinging door. And that’s when he felt a burst of cold air escape his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Bullying about sexuality/gender.
> 
> Sorry this one's kind of a cliffhanger, but my goal is to get the next chapter up tomorrow night.


	7. Saturday Beautification pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has a ghostly encounter. 
> 
> *Please scroll to the bottom for a content warning.

Danny shivered as a deep cold sank into him. His teeth chattered and he wondered whether he should tell Mr. Veldez the AC was broken before he realized it was his ghost sense, not the AC, that was responsible for the sudden dip in temperature. 

One by one, the taps turned and the sinks’ faucets streamed, starting from the farthest away until the one next to him was gushing water. Danny tried to hide his alarm in case the ghost was watching him, but he felt the hair on the back of his neck raise to attention.

“Okay, you win— you’ve got a solid horror movie sequence down,” Danny said, trying and failing to keep the nerves from his voice. “Now talk to me— what’s your thing? Are you the bathroom ghost? The urinal specter?”

The stall doors that remained on their hinges rattled in place as though someone were shaking them in anger. The noise grew louder, ringing in Danny’s ears. He hated it when ghosts were like this— when they were actually creepy instead of just trying to kill him outright. It was so much worse. Danny wanted to strike out, to say something to cut the tension, but the only thing he could think of was that picture in the yearbook and the boy his age whose name had been crossed out every year he was at school. He remembered the way the ghost had moved backwards, like he had been shoved, and the tears shining in his translucent eyes. 

“Or maybe you don’t have a thing,” Danny said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the rattling doors. He held his hands up in surrender. “Maybe you’re just trapped. Your… your name is Peter Bell, right?”

The moment Danny spoke the name aloud, everything stopped. The taps stopped running, the doors stopped rattling, and the only thing that remained was the frigid cold. The room went as silent as a tomb— so quiet that Danny could even hear the steady drip of the leaky faucet to his right. 

“Peter,” said a voice from behind Danny, almost beside him. Danny jumped and turned to see the boy, to see Peter there, crying still. His wide eyes were rimmed red. He seemed more substantial now— somehow filled out, like he had been a black and white photo now colored in.

“That’s your name, right?” Danny said, daring to take a step forward, “Peter?”

The other boy looked to the floor as though afraid to meet Danny’s eye, but he nodded.

“Why are you here?” Danny asked. “What do you want?”

Peter did not raise his head to meet Danny’s gaze. His blond hair hung around his bowed head eerily, like he was dead. Danny remembered, uncomfortably, that he was. The ghost raised a pale hand— palm up— and offered it to Danny. 

Danny considered this outstretched hand for a moment. He had never touched a ghost like this before— not to fight, just to... What exactly was he doing?

Everything in his body told Danny not to do it. Not to trust a ghost. But this wasn’t some monster— this was just a kid. Danny reached out and put his hand in Peter’s. He was instantly surprised at how warm, how solid the hand felt in his. Peter looked up at him, and Danny saw a single tear bloom in his eye and fall down his pale cheek. And then his vision dissolved into blackness.

. . .

The boys’ bathroom was rarely a safe place during class. You try to avoid it at all costs, instead begging Mr. Frankle to let you miss a few minutes of study hall. He always gives you permission with a pitying look, which is more than you get from the other teachers, like he knows what you’re trying to avoid. This look gives you a sick feeling in your stomach, but you always accept the hall pass anyway and bolt for the boy’s room.

It’s only when you open the door that you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake. Lenny B from your gym class is smoking into the vent accompanied by two of his beefier friends. 

Lenny has never been a fan of yours and he has an almost-psychic sense for other people’s insecurities: Clara Jenkins’ hair, Johnny Brady’s braces, and your utter inability to blend in with other boys. The littlest things always get you into trouble— your voice hitting the wrong pitch, the way you walk, the way your dress, the actual words that come out of your mouth, and the ones that don’t. 

“Bell!” Lenny barks, his eyes sinking into your like fishing hooks sliding into the roof of a mouth.

You stuff your hands in your pockets. “I, uh, didn’t see anything,” you say at once, trying to make yourself small and nonthreatening. But when your voice comes out, it jumps too high. You flinch.

“Well if it isn’t Peter Pan,” says Lenny to his buddies, “Back from fairy land.”

“More like Tinker Bell,” grunts one of Lenny’s friends, taking a drag off the cigarette and blowing smoke into the vent. 

It’s an old joke, but still, hot shame floods your stomach. You instinctively look down at your shoes. You wish you could fold yourself away, fold yourself into nothing. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt. 

“I’ll go,” you say. Your voice is wrong. You can hear the fear in it. And so can he.

“Why’s that, fairy boy?” Lenny leers, stepping toward you. “So you can run and tell Frankle?”

“No,” you shake your head firmly, “No I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Not what I heard,” Lenny spits. “I heard your mouth is always open for business.”

Hot tears prick your eyes.The other boys are laughing and you know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. You turn to leave, but Lenny’s hand grips your shoulders and digs into the meat, jerking you back.

“Don’t touch me!” You cry, frantic to get away. But another one of them is already on you, pinning your hands behind your back. Lenny’s fingers are like knives digging into your tender shoulder. 

“Please, I—” Lenny’s hand comes down across your face with a force that pops an ear and rattles your teeth. You stare up at him in shock. The fact that it was a slap makes it even harder to bear— a punch, you think as his hand comes down again to split your lip and fill your mouth with blood, would have been more honorable. A punch would have been easier to live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content warning: bullying, homophobia, homophobic remarks, violence.


	8. Second Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom Gang learn more about Peter Bell.
> 
> *Scroll down for content warning.

Danny woke, shaken. His body was cold all over and his forehead felt clammy. The first thing he thought was that he wanted his sister. Not Tucker or Sam, but Jazz. He dragged himself up from the bathroom floor for the second time in a week and looked wildly around, heart in his throat. He was half-expecting the ghost of Lenny B to stalk out of a stall and slap him in the face. But he wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there in seventy years. And neither was Peter. 

When Danny was sure it was safe, he turned to the bathroom mirror and examined his lip. It was whole, if a little chapped, but it still stung as if he’d really been hurt. He could still taste the blood in his mouth. Shivering, but not from the cold, he splashed water on his face and tried to wash away that taste of blood, that cold dread that seemed to stick to his insides. 

His reflection looked scared. And for a second, he wished he were Danny Phantom. He wished those green eyes were looking back at him— fierce and comforting in their alienness. This was, of course, a ridiculous idea and Danny hurried back to the classroom, remembering to grab the paper towels on the way.

He cleaned up the mess quickly and then hurried to the gym, where Mr. Veldez looked surprised to see him. 

“Done so soon?” He asked, shouting over the industrial waxer as it slowly powered down.

“Yes, sir,” Danny said. “What else should I do?” It became immediately clear to Danny that Mr. Veldez’s charges rarely made it past the de-gumming process. Mr. Veldez looked around until his eyes settled on the weight room. He rummaged in his cart and produced a roll of paper towels and a bottle of disinfectant. 

“The wrestling mats could use a good wipe down,” he said cheerfully. 

Danny thought that he was perhaps the first person to ever clean the wrestling mats. They gave off a distinct aroma of BO and cat pee and Danny considered reverting to his ghost form just so he wouldn’t have to breathe. Of course, this possibility was off the table when Dash arrived ten minutes later, grumbling about how Danny screwed them over by going too fast.

“Sorry I’m too good, Dash, next time I’ll try to slow it down to your level,” Danny snapped, spraying vigorously at the mat. His heart pounded in his ears. He shouldn’t have spoken. He should have stayed silent and ignored Dash. He hated to have the other boy so close— all of his thoughts felt muddled with Peter’s, still. Like he was actually afraid of Dash. He wasn’t. Was he?

He glanced at Dash out of the corner of his eye. Dash had never hit him. He had never laid a finger on Danny. Mostly he just looked intimidating and made comments about how he would never hit a girl. That was Dash’s real power— cutting Danny down. Making him feel small. He thought of Peter who couldn’t look him in the eye, who wanted to disappear. That was what Dash wanted, he thought. Maybe that was what they all wanted, assholes like Dash, to make you wish you were nothing. 

. . .

“Listen, I only have a few minutes before my mom gets here,” Danny said into Tucker’s spare cell. It was an old model that Tuck used to text in class so teachers couldn’t confiscate his precious iPhone twelve or whatever it was he had. Sam thought it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard of, but Tucker had lent it to Danny while he was phoneless and Danny thought it was better than nothing. 

“How’d beautification go?” Tuck asked. Danny could see he had a mouthful of fries. 

“Far from beautiful. I had a… ghost problem. Are you at the mall?” Danny glanced around nervously for the Fenton Mobile, but it was nowhere in sight. 

“Yeah, we had to fuel after such long hours of hard work,” Tucker said, biting into a burrito. 

“Oh please,” Sam said, grabbing the phone away from him, “Like you could even figure out the microfiche.”

“I’m the one who—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, smirking. “Danny, you ran into a ghost?” Her eyebrows pulled together in concern. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m, uh, I’m fine,” Danny lied. His stomach still felt like it was full of ice water. And having to spend the day with Dash had been… well, it hadn’t made him feel any better. “I’ll tell you all about it later. What did you find?”

“Well, it’s super weird,” Sam said, flipping the camera to show a few grainy photocopies. “We found Peter Bell in an old newspaper. He won a science fair competition in 10th grade. And then… well he never showed up again until…” Sam showed what looked to be a grainy obituary that was too small for Danny to read. 

“What’s it say?” 

“Peter Bell died in 1971. He never married and he… well Tucker and I couldn’t tell but it looks like he died in a car accident,” Sam flipped the camera back to her and for a second her glossy purple lips filled the screen. “From the way the obituary was written it kind of looks like it was maybe… on purpose?”

Danny’s heart sank. He didn’t know why. It was so stupid— Peter Bell was already dead. He’d been dead for decades. But something about it made Danny inexplicably sad. Like he was hearing about a friend.

“At Casper?” 

“No, that’s the thing, he wasn’t even in town when he died,” Tucker said, grabbing the phone back from Sam. He puffed his chest out proudly.“ _I’m_ the one who found that, by the way. Me. Your coolest friend.” 

Danny managed a laugh. “Way to go, Tuck,” he said. “But then… if he didn’t die at Casper… why is he here? And why now? Did you get the date?”

“I thought of that,” Sam called, now angling herself so that he could see her face in the corner of the screen, “but the anniversary is like three months from now. And it’s not his birthday, either,” Sam said before Danny could ask. “He’s a Pisces.” 

“Damn,” Danny said. “So— oh crap,” Danny heard the squeal of brakes as his mom pulled into the parking lot. “Gotta go you guys did great.” He hung up the phone and turned it off for good measure, terrified of what Maddie Fenton would do to him if she heard the buzz of a phone while he was grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content warning: bullying, implied suicide.


	9. Comfort Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has an elucidating taco night.

Danny’s parents were usually too busy in the lab for conventional family dinners. Most days his mom would make something simple like soup or pasta and leave the pot out for everyone to serve themselves whenever they happened to walk by. Or, when the weather allowed for it, Jack would break out the grill and make burgers or hot dogs— steaks if it was a special occasion— and the Fentons would enjoy a leisurely dinner on the patio. A lot of times dinner meant a leftover free for all.

Today was one of those rare occasions when everyone found themselves at the same table at the same time. Perhaps it was Danny’s delinquent reputation that made his mother and father set their plates down at the kitchen table rather than take them down to the lab, or maybe it was that Jazz’s frequent demands for stability finally got to them. Either way, Danny enjoyed it. He knew it went against his angsty teen image, but he really did like family dinners.

Jack had taken a simple theme— taco night— and run with it, and the counter was crowded with little bowls of cheese and chopped up onions and cilantro. Danny fixed his own perfect tacos: a ton of cheese and lettuce, extra tomato, and absolutely no onion. He crunched through two tacos without stopping for a breath before realizing how hungry he was.

“Slow down, kiddo,” his dad boomed, “You’ll choke!” He gave Danny a wallop on the back that made his eyes water. Jazz surveyed this with alarm and Danny could almost hear her worrying.

“They worked you hard today, eh, son?” Danny’s dad went on. Danny’s mom narrowed her eyes, as though she didn’t approve of Jack making light of Danny getting into trouble. 

“What did they have you do, Danny?” Jazz asked.

“Oh, uh, just scraped a bunch of gum off desks,” Danny said, “And cleaned mats. Nothing too wretched.”

“Ah, the good old wrestling mats,” Danny’s dad said, his eyes catching a manic glory day gleam. Jazz glowered at Danny like this was his doing. “I remember the 1986 statewide championship like it was yesterday.”

“So,” Danny said, eager to cut his dad off here, “What did you guys do today?”

“We actually made some serious progress on a prototype,” his mom said, and for the first time all day her mood seemed to brighten. She tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Show them, Jack, the kids’ll love it.”

Jack Fenton beamed and whipped out a rectangular green object from his front pocket no bigger than a cell phone. It looked harmless enough, Danny thought.

“It’s the Fenton Ghost Taser,” Jack said enthusiastically, waving the stick in the air, “Slim, portable, and packs a punch of 200,000 volts!” Danny jumped as Jack clicked a button and steel wires shot out, tipped with nasty-looking claws on their tips. The metal claws stretched out and came just short of Danny’s face, falling right into the salsa bowl.

“Oh, don’t worry son,” Jack chuckled, “That’s the best part— it’s completely harmless to humans— it only works on ghosts.”

“So there’s no dangerous mix-ups,” Maddie supplied.

“Or pesky lawsuits,” said Jack.

Danny spared a glance at his sister, who had unconsciously stretched her arm in front of Danny’s chest as if to save him from a fender bender. Her face looked as pale as his must have been.

“Maybe you shouldn’t play with the ghost weapons at the table, Dad,” Jazz said as Jack reeled in the steel cables.

“Everyone’s gonna want one of these bad boys once they’re on the market,” Jack said, “A single hit could stun a ghost for over seven minutes— not to mention the excruciating pain they’d be in for every second!” He chuckled.

Danny looked down at his tacos, appetite suddenly lost.

Jazz tapped his foot with her under the table. It was a tiny thing— just a little nudge— but he knew what it meant. That she was here. That she got it. 

Jazz had never pushed Danny to tell their parents. He knew she thought they’d accept him. And maybe they would. But their whole lives were… not ghost friendly. 

Danny cleared his throat. “Speaking of ghosts,” he began and all three of the others snapped to attention. Jazz’s mouth fell open. He gave her a small shake of his head as if to say no, it’s not time for _that_ conversation yet. “I, um, came across this story in a movie. And Sam and Tucker and I got into this big debate about it.”

Jazz raised an eyebrow at him, but his mother and father were all ears.

“In the movie, this ghost kid haunts a house where he used to live. But it turns out he didn’t even die there, he died as an adult somewhere totally different. And he just keeps haunting this one place from his childhood. Sam thought it made sense, but Tucker and I said that couldn’t happen… could it?” Danny felt pretty pleased with himself to have so successfully changed the topic and to have lied so smoothly. He watched his parents look at one another, twin expressions of excitement blooming on their faces.

“Falstaff’s Principle of Emotional Imprinting,” they said together, as excited as two kids about to dive into a ball pit.

“Falstaff was a prominent ghost hunter in the 80s,” Danny’s mom clarified, “his principle suggests that not all hauntings are powered by a ghost.”

“Well honey, they _are_ ghosts in that—”

“Well, Vougler says that they—”

“But what about the principle of emotional… thingy?” Danny said, urging them to stay on topic. 

“Emotional Imprinting,” Jack said.

“It means that places can become haunted not just by a death, but by a traumatic event. He theorized that sometimes people’s psychic trauma could imprint on a particular location associated with that trauma and the emotional turmoil would be enough to detach a kind of spiritual residue that would fuel a haunting.” 

“A spiritual residue. So, a ghost.” Danny said.

“Very much _like_ a ghost,” Maddie said, “depending on the severity of the trauma.”

“But Falstaff also theorized that when the person eventually died, their ghost would be snapped back to that moment of trauma, despite it having nothing to do with their death,” Jack cut in, “But the ghost would still be an imprint. So the poor sap would just live out their worst day over and over again,” he took a big bite of taco, sending lettuce raining down onto his placemat.  
“That sounds horrible,” Jazz said, and Danny frowned. 

“So it is possible,” he went on, “After the person died the— uh— imprint would be just like a ghost then?”

“Pretty much,” Maddie said, “In theory it would be made of the same ectoplasmic matter, but unlike a normal ghost it would be tied to a specific place. It would act like an echo, growing gradually stronger over time.”

“That is until a ghost hunter can get a hold of it, then BLAMMO!” Jack Fenton pounded the table and Danny and Jazz jumped. 

Danny didn’t like the sound of that— of Peter, or anyone, having to relive their worst moments. Would that be Danny one day? Hearing Dash’s voice ringing in his ear while he was wiping down mats for eternity? He shuddered.

“What movie was this, Danny?” Jack asked eagerly, “Hollywood never gets ghosts right!”

“I’ll, uh, find out from Sam,” Danny said, thinking fast, “It was some Japanese horror film she downloaded.”

Jack’s face fell. “I hate reading subtitles,” he said, just as Danny knew he would.

… 

Danny left the steaming bathroom later that night, exhausted from having to keep a straight face through his parents describing in gory detail how a Fenton Ghost Taser could make a ghost feel like its insides were literally on fire. He opened his door and yelped when he saw that his sister was already in his room— reading a pop psychology book.

“Jazz!” He yelped, clutching his towel to him. “Ever heard of privacy?”

“Sorry,” she said, setting down her bookmark and snapping the book shut, “I wanted to talk.”

“We can’t talk when I’m dressed?” Danny said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Isn’t there anything in your books about teens needing their own space or whatever?” 

“I wasn’t sure if you were planning on staying or…” She jerked her chin toward the window— toward the black sky dotted with endless stars. “And I wanted to catch you before you left.”  
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Can I at least change?” 

Jazz nodded and gathered her book, slipping quietly through the door. As Danny changed into his pajamas— a thick black sweatshirt and shorts with ghost emojis on them (a gift from Sam) — he thought about flying out the window and ditching Jazz. That would show her for treating his room like a lobby. But then he remembered, running a towel through his hair, how she had been the first person he’d thought of when he woke up from Peter Bell’s nightmare. And how she had thrown her hand in front of him at dinner. 

“Stupid nice big sister,” he grumbled, stomping down the hall to her room. He knocked twice.

“Come in,” Jazz called.

“See that,” Danny said, demonstrating another knock, “That is a knock. It’s a sound made when one person is requesting permission to enter a private location.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, but patted her bed. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m overbearing, I get it.” Danny dove onto the bed beside her, intentionally mussing her nicely-made bed and wrinkling her comforter. He grabbed her stuffed tiger and made its little paw knock on Jazz’s wall. 

Jazz, because she was more mature than him, ignored this. 

“What was that about today?” She said, her voice low. Her blue eyes were so focused on Danny that he felt like she could see _through_ him. “What’s going on?” 

“Jazz,” Danny began, exasperated. 

“I know you don’t want me getting in the way of your superhero business—”

“I’m not a superhero,” Danny said. 

Jazz pressed on. “And I know that Tucker and Sam are your support system for that. But I worry about you. You looked terrible today and not just because of that stupid Fenton Taser. You looked like you’d come in on the losing end of a fight. What’s going on?”

Danny was pretty sure his sister hadn’t blinked once the entire time she was talking. His first instinct was to lie to her, or to blow up and tell her to mind her own business. But then she put a hand on his shoulder and Danny remembered Peter’s hand stretched out toward him and he felt his temper ebb away. He rested his arm against hers.

“I… met this weird ghost,” Danny said at last, not looking at her.

“I figured. Did it hurt you?” 

‘No. Well, yeah. Kind of. But we didn’t fight. He kind of showed me his life? Like I was there— I was him. It felt what he felt.”

“That… sounds scary,” Jazz said.

Danny nodded. “And I don’t know, it felt confusing. Like it was familiar. And then Dash was there.” Jazz made a sound of disgust.

“Dash Baxter is a ghost?”

“No,” Danny laughed, “I wish. Then I could just throw him in the ghost zone. He was at school. And he’s… he's just such an asshole.”

“Has he been bothering you?” Jazz said sharply.

“Jazz,” Danny said, but Jazz sighed.

“I know,” she said. I can’t fight your battles for you. No matter how much I want to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t listen.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and Danny flinched, recalling Peter’s bully digging into the meat of his— of Peter’s shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Danny put his face in his hands. “This just all feels muddled. This ghost felt really… helpless. And it made me feel the same way. Even though we’re not the same. I’m not a ghost— not like that. I’m not stuck.” He sighed. “I’m not even making sense, am I?” He looked miserably up at Jazz, whose mouth was pulled down at the corners. 

“You’re not a ghost, Danny,” Jazz said, her voice as comforting as the stuffed tiger toy on Danny’s lap, “You don’t have to be stuck dealing with the same problems, especially not one as dumb as Dash.” Danny nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“What— uh— what would you do? If someone like Dash wouldn’t just leave you alone?” He couldn’t quite meet those blue eyes, that unflinching gaze. 

“Me?” Jazz asked. “Probably beat him up with my ghost powers.” Danny laughed. “But you’re a much more heroic person than me. So if Dash is bothering you, you should probably tell your friends and your teachers so they can know to look out for it.”

“Ah,” Danny said, “gotcha.”

“And what about this ghost?” said Jazz. “How are you going to unstick him from Casper High?”

“That, Danny said, frowning, “I don’t know.


	10. Bad Vibes Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has a face off and rides an emotional roller coaster. 
> 
> Content warning below.

With Sam’s dentist appointment in first and Lancer’s test in English, Danny didn’t get a chance to talk to either of his friends until lunch. As soon as he saw them, he felt as though he was somehow lighter, like a ship that had set its anchor in home port. “Thank you for spending your weekend at the library,” Danny said, “I owe you both big time.”

“No problem,” Sam said at the same time Tucker said, “You can buy me lunch at the Nasty Burger to make up for it.” 

Danny chuckled, “You’re on.” He and Sam exchanged a smirk, and something about her upturned lips made Danny say, “Any way I can repay you?” Before he could die of embarrassment, the scent of Flower Bomb wafted toward them. Tucker’s head swiveled around like an owl’s. 

“Paulina,” he sang, his eyes following her as she passed. “A vision.” But Danny didn’t look up, his eyes were trained on his tater tots which he quickly stuffed in his mouth to prevent himself from saying anything else cheesy or stupid. Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“Tucker, it’s not polite to stare at women,” Sam said.

“Paulina’s not a woman, she’s a goddess,” he said. Sam snorted. “We weak mortals have no choice but to be lured in by her beauty.”

“I’m not,” Sam and Danny said at the same time. They both looked down, each internally cringing. Tucker ignored them, sighing into his hamburger as Paulina took her seat at her usual lunch table with Dash and the rest of the football team. 

“So, uh, how did it go Saturday? You said you ran into a ghost?” Sam said, finally regaining her usual cool, though a hint of a rosy blush lurked under her usually pallid skin.

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, had an encounter with our friend Peter,” Danny said, unsure how to keep going. Tucker and Sam offered twin looks of confusion.

“Did he hurt you?” Sam asked. 

“Danny can take a little 1950s ghost, Sam,” Tucker said defensively. 

Danny gave his friend a half smile, ducking his head. “Actually, I… couldn’t.” 

“What?” said Tucker, his eyes wide as saucers. Danny frowned. 

“Listen, Peter isn’t a normal ghost. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, but he showed me… he pulled me into his world. It was like being in a memory,” Danny had lowered his voice instinctively, and he felt suddenly strange, almost afraid. It was as though he were sharing the personal secrets of a friend who’d placed their trust in him. And now he was betraying that trust. He swallowed down this fear. After all, he was only telling Sam and Tucker because he wanted to help Peter and so did they. 

“How did he do that?” Sam asked, brow furrowing. 

“I don’t know,” Danny admitted, “I’ve never seen anything like it. “But… honestly, it wasn’t pretty. He showed me his life here at Casper and… and how hard it was for him. I think he was gay and it looks like he got seriously bullied for it.” Danny took a sip of coke— his throat felt suddenly dry. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam and Tucker were staring at him. Were they making a connection between him and Peter? Did they pity Danny? He cut his eyes away from them, face burning. 

“But how is his ghost here at Casper,” Tucker said, voice maddeningly soft, “He didn’t die here.”

“I think I figured that out, too. My parents told me about this phenomenon that can happen when a person goes through a trauma. Their… well I’m not going to explain it right, but something like their ghost gets knocked out of them. Like an echo of themselves. It gets stronger and stronger until… until they die. And then it’s like their ghost snaps into place. And they… just stay.” He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the expression that Sam wore. But he was supposed to be the leader of this ghost-catching group and so he wrenched his gaze up. Miraculously, both Sam and Tucker wore twin expressions of confusion, not pity or fear.

“So is Peter a ghost?” Sam asked. 

“No. But yes? My mom was… difficult to understand.” Danny said. 

“You asked your mom about this?” Tucker demanded, in awe of Danny’s brazenness. 

“Kind of? I… got her and my dad talking.”

“Ghost or not— how do we get rid of him?” Sam said, suddenly serious.

“I… don’t think we do,” Danny said. “He’s not like a regular ghost. He hasn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t mean to mess up the bathroom— I think he’s just… stuck. He’s reliving his own worst days over and over again,” Danny felt something catch in his throat. He cleared it. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do.”

“Danny,” Sam said, mouth agape, “You cannot be serious. I get that you feel bad for the guy— the ghost, not-ghost, whatever— but you can’t just let him haunt the bathroom forever.”

“I’m not _letting_ him do anything,” said Danny, suddenly furious, “This just isn’t my job.” 

“Isn’t your job? You’re Danny—” Sam lowered her voice, and her words came out in a serpentine hiss, “You’re _Danny Phantom_ ,” she said, “I would argue getting rid of ghost-things is kind your entire job.” 

“He’s not really a ghost,” said Danny, “And I only get rid of evil ghosts that actually hurt people. Not like sad spirits or whatever.”

“Dude, he literally wrecked a bathroom with you in it,” Tucker said, “If it had been someone else....”

“It wasn’t someone else,” Danny said, “it was me. And unless he does something that proves he’s evil or hurting people, I’m not going to get involved. What do you want me to do? Send him to the ghost zone? For what? Being sad in the bathroom?” Danny didn’t know why he was suddenly so angry, but he felt like Tucker and Sam were being purposely dense, like they weren’t seeing the full picture. 

“Danny, I get that you feel bad for this guy,” Sam said, her tone suddenly warm, “But just because he was like gay and bullied for it at Casper doesn’t mean—”

“So that’s the only reason I care?” Danny said fiercely, “Because I’m some queer loser?”

“What?” Sam asked, recoiling, “No, I didn’t say that. That’s not— I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Danny, no one is saying that,” Tucker cut in. “We get this ghost is different, but it doesn’t seem like he’s safe to just leave around.” 

Danny crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to lose the righteous anger that had been building up in him. He steeled himself. “Look, I appreciate that you guys are concerned, but I’m not going to stuff Peter Bell in the Fenton Thermos for no reason. Unless he does anything to harm someone, he can stay.” 

As if to punctuate his sentence, the cafeteria door swung open, slamming against the back wall with a horrendous bang. Several addled freshmen appeared, streaming in and flinging themselves behind the lunch tables for cover. 

“What’s going on?” Someone called. 

“A ghost!” One of the freshmen cried, his voice cracking on the last word, “A ghost is following us!” 

“You were saying?” Sam said, her mouth turned down in a joyless smirk as Danny dove under the lunch table and changed into something a little more fitting for the occasion. He flew, invisible, from under the table and hovered just beneath the ceiling, ready for anything. 

Cold dread crept into the lunch room like a thick frost. Its icy fingers seemed to inch in an invisible wave from the door to the back of the room, where Danny watched as students cowered and burst into inexplicable tears. It was like a whisper whose words couldn’t be made out, but whose tone was all menace and sickness. Danny watched as Paulina and Tucker burst into tears almost simultaneously. Sam hugged herself and shivered. Danny didn’t think he was getting the full effect in his ghost form, but his stomach nevertheless filled with ice water. Cool blue vapor escaped his lips and he sunk perhaps six inches closer to the floor, as if his mood controlled his ability to fly. He steeled himself, hoping against hope it wasn’t Peter Bell he was about to face.

He saw the shadow spill across the doorway before the other boy’s face appeared. Peter seemed taller than he had before, pale with his wavy blond hair spilling over one eye. He did not look up, but down at the floor as he had in the memory.

“Don’t,” Danny whispered, “Don’t do this.” But he didn’t think Peter could hear him. 

No one seemed to notice Peter, or if they did they were too terrified or sad to do anything about it. The only sound aside from Peter’s echoing footsteps were the sniffles and gasps of crying students. Was he making them all feel like this? Was he doing this on purpose? 

“Stop,” Danny called, “What are you doing to them? I don’t think you want to hurt them.”

Peter opened his mouth, but when he spoke it wasn’t his voice that sounded throughout the cafeteria, shaking the tables and rattling the abandoned food trays against each other. When he spoke, it was a voice that set Danny’s teeth on edge. He recognized it— he’d heard it before in Peter’s memory. And, even coming out of Peter’s mouth, it sent a chill up his spine.

“You really are a mystery,” Lenny’s voice said out of Peter’s mouth. “I don’t know why you keep pretending to be a boy— no one’s buying it.” Danny felt the blood leave his face. He had heard this before, but not from Peter or Lenny. Danny blinked and realized that Peter wasn’t taller, but floating a few inches in the air, his feet dragging slightly against the cold linoleum as though he was a rag doll being compelled forward by some invisible hand. His head lolled slightly on his neck, but his mouth still moved.

“I have to hand it to you, Fenton, you really must be brave. But if you knew what they were saying about you— that you’re just a freak looking for attention—” 

They weren’t Lenny’s words at all. They were Dash’s. But how could Peter know…? 

“Stop!” Danny called, holding out his hand and letting his ectoplasm warm his palm, bright green and threatening as a poisonous snake. “I don’t want to hurt you!” His voice cracked on the last word and he felt his stomach sinking. Would they realize who he was talking to? Would they finally make the connection? Sweat beaded down his forehead. 

“Please,” someone sobbed at the tables below, “please stop it.” 

Peter crept forward, and the closer he got, the louder the cries grew. Everyone in the room seemed to be weeping now. Even Sam had put her head down on the blue tables, her arms around her. Danny frowned.

“That you’re just a bitch looking for someone to show you—” Danny let Peter have it. He blasted him with a ray of neon green light and then another. Peter shot backwards as though he’s been struck, his head jerking to one side in a way that made Danny feel queasy. He flew down past the table and grunted to Tucker and Sam, “Guys, the thermos. Now.” But neither of his friends moved. 

Danny struck Peter again, but Peter made no move to elude him. Danny almost wished he would dodge or strike back, but he didn’t. He floated there, taking every hit, and Danny winced each time his ectoplasm found its mark. But the air around him grew thicker, colder, and now the moans of those around him had been silenced. Danny spared a glance around the cafeteria to see that he was in a morgue. No one stirred even to cry, but all seemed frozen, like statues in a miserable tableau. 

“Insert joke about high school being hell here,” Danny said under his breath. He moved back to Tucker and Sam, who were still as death. “Tuck,” he whispered, “do you have the thermos?” Tucker groaned but didn’t move. Danny urgently rooted around in his backpack, but before he could find it, Sam started to shake uncontrollably. 

“Sam,” Danny whispered. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pulled quickly away— her skin was ice. “Sam— ” Sam rose into the air, her arms hanging limply at her sides, just like Peter. Like a possessed doll. Danny shivered.

“Let her go!” He yelled. But it was as though Peter couldn’t hear him. As though he, himself, were possessed. Danny flew at Peter, crashing into him and knocking him to the ground. It was as if the spell had been broken— Peter’s eyes were wide with fear as though Danny were the villain here. He quivered under Danny, putting his hands up to his face. 

“Don’t hurt me,” he cried. Danny quickly flew off of him, horrified. He looked from Peter to Sam, who was still floating in the air. 

“Let her go,” Danny said quietly. 

“So you can hurt me?” Peter whispered. 

“I told you I don’t want to hurt you,” Danny said, “But you have to let her go. You have to let everyone go.” 

Peter’s eyes were wet. He looked quickly away and Sam fell—- Danny caught her, but just barely. He set her on the floor and she looked at him at last— awake. Her violet eyes were red and puffy with tears. She wiped at them and cast her gaze quickly to her bag, grabbing the thermos and handing it to Danny. He took it, the little cylinder heavy in his hands. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, “But you can’t keep hurting people.” Peter flung his arm out in one last attempt to defend himself. Danny clicked the thermos on and watched as Peter disappeared into it. He had never even tried to fight. Not in a way Danny could understand. As the cafeteria came back to life, marked by cries of shock and fear, Danny could only look down at his hands, his face burning with shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Bullying, general fear and crying. :(


	11. Bad Vibes Only p.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny tells Sam what's really been going on... after some pushing. Content warning below.

The students of Casper High were well used to ghost attacks. They helped each other off the floor and tried to discreetly wipe tears. Danny glanced around fervently, wondering if anyone had put it together when Peter had called out to him, but no one spared a glance his way until—

“It’s the ghost boy!” Paulina’s voice rang out as she desperately tried to wipe away her running mascara with her ring finger. “You saved us!” She ran at Danny, throwing her arms around him. Danny shifted uncomfortably away from her, trying to turn back toward Sam and Tucker. “You’re my hero, ghost boy.” 

“Uh, thanks,” Danny said, trying to deepen his voice, “Just doing my job.” Paulina kissed his cheek, which seemed to wake him up. He backed away from her, gently removing her arms. “Listen I have to go,” but when he turned Sam was already stalking away, not sparing him a second glance. 

Danny flew up through the school’s roof and back down into the hall where Sam was, a couple of students straggling behind her and looking worse for wear. Danny dropped into an empty janitor’s closet and quickly changed back, throwing open the door and not even sparing a breath for an out of the closet joke, but by the time he made it back to the hall, Sam had disappeared into the girls’ bathroom. His shoulders sagged and he considered waiting for her, but he wondered if that would make her even madder. 

Danny knew Sam didn’t ever like to be seen crying. She had broken her arm in the sixth grade and kept it together until her parents picked her up. Maybe she hadn’t wanted him to see her cry. Or maybe she had wanted him to comfort _her_ instead of getting man-handled by Paulina.

“She was probably just fixing her makeup,” Tucker said when Danny returned to the cafeteria. “You know how Sam gets when her eyeliner gets smudged.”

“Do you think she’s mad at me? That it’s my fault?” Danny asked, biting the inside of his lip.

“Why, because she told you to get rid of that ghost before it attacked someone and then you didn’t and it attacked everyone?” Danny frowned. Tucker shrugged. “Sorry, I’m a little off… that ghost really messed us up.” Tucker picked up his burger and then, incredibly, set it down without taking a bite. “I don’t think I’ve ever lost my appetite before.” 

“Should we take you to a doctor?” said Danny.

“Woah, woah, let’s not get crazy now,” Tucker said, “I’m not dead.” He nibbled a fry pathetically as if to demonstrate. 

“What I don’t get,” Danny said, lowering his voice, “is how that ghost blew my cover and no one heard.”

“What are you talking about?” Tucker asked, holding his head up with two hands as though the thought of sitting up on his own was too exhausting.

“When the ghost— when Peter said…that stuff to me.” Danny felt his cheeks redden. “About being… you know.”

“Dude, literally what are you talking about?” Tucker said, “That ghost wasn’t even talking to you. It was talking to me.” 

“You?”

“Yeah? I thought that’s why you were near me? To save me? Your best friend?” Tucker blinked his brown eyes slowly as if waiting for Danny to fully join the conversation. 

“Save you? But… what did you hear?” Danny asked, frowning. 

“Um, you heard him,” Tucker said, suddenly lowering his gaze. “About me being, you know, weak or whatever.”

“Wait, what?” said Danny. “But he didn’t say that.”

“Well what did you hear?” Tucker asked, voice raw. 

“I— he—”

“Everyone heard their own thing,” Sam said, taking her seat at the table. “All of the girls in the bathroom already figured it out. From the sound of it, he told everyone stuff they already felt bad about, stuff they’d been made fun of for.” Danny looked at her in awe. Her eyes were still slightly puffy and tinged red, but her make up was once again perfect. 

“How did you figure that out so fast?” Danny asked. 

“I’m smart,” Sam said, shrugging. “And one of the girls was babbling about how the ghost was making fun of her leaked nudes but I heard my mother’s voice come out of his mouth and tell me… well, all the things she thinks I’m faking for attention. So, I figured it had to be a sort of ghost terror based on individual fears situation.” 

Tucker and Danny couldn’t quite meet each other’s eyes. Finally, Danny cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry, Sam,” he said. “That… sounds awful.” 

“We literally all heard some rude bullshit,” Sam said matter-of-factly, “So… are you guys okay?”

Tucker shrugged. Danny followed suit. 

“Are we just… not going to talk about feelings, then?” Sam asked, her lips in a little frown. Neither of them could muster up the energy to answer her. Sam shrugged. “Works for me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t deal with Peter sooner,” Danny burst out at last. He gritted his teeth, waiting for Sam to scold him or kill him or extract his soul— whatever scary thing she was certainly capable of— but she just sighed. 

“Danny, I get it. Clearly whatever Peter showed you… whatever he said, it really freaked you out—”

“That’s not—” Danny cut in, but Sam put her hand on his arm. 

“Look, I’m not saying you guys are the same or whatever it is you think I’m saying. I’m saying you felt bad for this ghost and there’s nothing wrong with that. You thought you could help him by leaving him alone, but clearly that didn’t work. So now maybe you can help him by sending him to the ghost zone where he belongs.”

Danny felt his eyes well up with tears. It was as though that terrible cold that Peter had brought with him had never left. It lingered there in the pit of his stomach, icy and jagged. Before Danny could compose and answer, the blue cafeteria doors burst open and Danny only saw a streak of red before he felt something slam into him. He almost blasted it with ectoplasm before realizing with a rush of relief that it was only Jazz.

“Danny!” She cried, squeezing him with the strength of a boa constrictor. “Are you okay? I was in the library giving a tutoring session and we didn’t hear about it until—” A few people in the cafeteria had noticed Jazz and were snickering. Dash, who generally had a soft spot for Jazz, was smirking. 

“Jazz, please,” Danny whispered under his breath, “chill. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” 

Jazz put her hands on her hips, frowning. “You all don’t look fine. You look terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks,” said Danny and Sam at the same time. 

“Everyone here looks like they got hit by a sad truck,” said Jazz. 

“What’s a sad truck?” Tucker asked curiously.

“Like a truck that’s carrying the national sadness supply,” said Jazz. 

“Jazz, can you please just—” 

“Hey Jasmine.” Dash’s attempt at flirtation sent a chill down Danny’s spine. “Looking good.” 

Jazz’s face twisted in annoyance. “Oh, hey Derek.” 

“It’s Dash,” Dash said, his thick eyebrows knitting together. 

“Well I go by Jazz,” Jazz snapped, “Not Jasmine.”

“Ugh,” he said loudly, “Looks like everyone in your weirdo family is a drama queen about names, huh?” 

“Excuse me?” Jazz cried, looking as though she were wishing the Fenton Ghost Taser worked on Dash. “What did you just say about my family?”

“Yeah, you wanna repeat that, Derek?” Sam asked, her voice a low growl.

Dash rolled his eyes and casually tossed his remaining lunch in the trash. “I guess the old saying is right. Freaks of a feather.” Before either Sam or Jazz could murder him, he was out the cafeteria door, Kwan’s arm around his shoulder. Jazz turned her hyper-focus back on him.

“What the hell was that about?” She demanded. “Is that asshole still giving you trouble?”

“What? He wasn’t even talking to me,” Danny said, though his stomach could not physically have sunk lower. 

“Um, ‘everyone in your weirdo family?’” Sam repeated. 

“The name thing?” Jazz said, looking ready to spit fire. “That was so fucking uncalled for.”

“I didn’t know you said swears, Jazz,” said Tucker, looking impressed. “But yeah, dude, that was really messed up.” Tucker reached over to put a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but Danny quickly shrugged it off. His face felt flushed and hot and he had the sudden urge to fly far, far away. 

“He was just being a dick, Jazz,” Danny said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “That’s him.”

“Danny if he’s still—” Jazz began, but Danny put his hand up. 

“Look, we have bigger fish to fry. I need to throw Peter back into the ghost zone and make sure that this is finished once and for all.” Danny grabbed his backpack and his lunch tray. “I’m gonna be late for sixth.” 

“Danny, the bell hasn’t even—” Jazz began but she was cut off by the bell. Danny said a silent prayer of thanks to the bell gods. She pointed a threatening finger at him. “We are talking about this later.” 

“I’ll be dealing with this later,” he said, unzipping his backpack to show her a flash of the Fenton thermos. He stuck up a hand to throw them a wave as he walked away. Sometimes, he thought, Jazz and his friends were too much to handle all together like that and should be kept apart for public safety. He made his way down the hall and was already wondering if he should skip class when he saw Kwan and Dash lurking outside the science classroom. 

“It’s a sign,” he whispered under his breath. 

“Fenton,” said Dash, voice loud enough that Danny couldn’t pretend to ignore him, “Who knew your sister was such a bitch?” 

“Who knew you were so bad at talking to girls,” Danny responded bleakly. 

“Maybe you could give me some pointers,” Dash said, “get me the inside scoop. Or does your advice only work on other dykes?” 

Danny’s face burned. “Fuck off, Dash,” he said. He reached for the door but Dash blocked it, his back to the little window. 

“Here comes your girlfriend now,” said Dash nastily. Danny turned to see that Sam had been trailing him. Before either of them could respond, Dash slipped into the science room, his wretched grin filling up the square window before he turned away. 

When she spoke, Sam’s voice was so calm that it unnerved him, “Are you okay?” 

“It’s nothing.” Danny said automatically, though he realized too late that he wasn’t really answering the question. 

“Danny,” she said, and her voice was therapist-soft, “has Dash been saying that kind of shit to you this whole time?” 

Danny hitched his backpack strap up higher on his shoulder. He forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze, but she looked so concerned that it was like looking at Jazz. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, and when he said it he sounded like Danny Phantom. Like everything really was okay. 

Sam crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not what it looks like,” she said. 

“And what does it look like?” He said, patience wearing thin.

“It looks like Dash is being a complete asshole and you’re just letting him get away with it.”

“Oh so I’m _letting_ him,” Danny said, seething. “So it’s my fault he’s calling me a girl and a dyke and a freak every time I turn around? Maybe I should just go back into the closet and try to never do anything that Dash might find fault with.”

Sam’s face crumpled. “Of course it’s not your fault, Danny. I’m not—”

“I’m always going to get this kind of shit, Sam,” Danny went on, “I’m always going to be a fucking target. So can you please not make a big deal out of it and just—” Sam put a cool hand on Danny’s flushed cheek. She held it there and maybe it was the cold or maybe it was that it was her, but Danny lost his place in the rant. The anger seeped out of him and all that was left was embarrassment. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Danny whispered, “especially not Jazz. Please.”

Sam frowned a little. She took Danny’s hand and Danny was not so upset that he didn’t feel his spirits lift a tiny bit at that. She threaded her fingers through his and even though her silver ring was hard against his finger, it felt good. 

“Why have you been keeping this a secret?” Sam asked, her voice soft as a prayer. 

Danny shrugged. “It’s so stupid,” he said. “I’m stupid.” 

“You’re not,” Sam said. “Tell me.”

“It keeps happening,” Danny said, and it was as though his voice was escaping his lips no matter how hard he clamped down his jaw. He never could quite master the whole man of mystery and silence thing. “I kept thinking if I ignored him he would stop. Or if I didn’t put up a fight… but it keeps happening. And it’s so stupid because I’m… you know.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. 

“What?”

“You know,” he made a little D across his chest and puffed out his chest. “Why should it matter what one stupid guy thinks of me? Shouldn’t I be above that? I’m literally a superhero. He’s just a dumb jock.”

“He is a dumb jock,” Sam said, “but what he’s saying really sucks. And it _is_ bothering you, isn’t it?” Danny shrugged again and Sam poked him in the shoulder. 

“Okay, yeah it does.” Danny slumped against the lockers. “He’s… it’s constant. And the stuff he says. I don’t know, he just gets under my skin. I feel like he’s saying…” Danny’s eyes welled with tears. “I feel like he’s saying what everyone else is thinking, you know?” 

Sam pulled Danny into a hug. He tried to keep his tears from spilling over, even in his shock. Sam wasn’t one for hugs. 

“Never tell anyone I hugged you or I will literally feed you to Skulker,” she said. And Danny laughed. “Danny, you’re not weak for feeling bad about being verbally assaulted on the regular. Being a superhero or whatever doesn’t mean you’re immune to shitty insults. You deserve to be able to live your life without worrying about jerks like Dash.” 

Despite fighting very hard to keep his tears at bay, Danny found himself wondering how much longer he could put off kissing Sam. Now, he felt, would certainly be a bad time. People would say “When was your first kiss with Sam?” and he would have to say, “After I got bullied and then cried all over her” and it would really taint the whole romance. He pulled his brain back to the present moment.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I don’t deserve that. And I’m sorry I lost it on you just now.” 

“You are forgiven. Thank you for acknowledging my wisdom,” Sam said. 

“Ugh, I’m going to have to talk to an adult, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, that does suck,” Sam acknowledged. 

“Can’t I just kill Dash?” 

“Then you’d have to deal with his shitty ghost,” Sam pointed out.

“Ugh, what ghost powers would he even get? Evil hair gel? Ghostly footballs?” Sam laughed.

“How do you feel about skipping class?” Sam asked, and her smile took on a wicked curve.

Danny raised an eyebrow at her. “Pretty good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: bullying, transphobia. 
> 
> Y'all I gotta say if you made it this far thank you for reading (this fic is not quite done yet). I realize I took a long break from writing it and I appreciate you if you're still reading. These last couple of chapters were really rough to write as someone who (surprise) did get bullied in school, but I hope they are living up to expectations!


	12. Tyrian Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Sam have an interlude. Danny talks to his mom about film. The haunted hot dogs make an appearance.

Danny had thought a lot about his first kiss with Sam Manson. He had thought about the indentation above her top lip— that wide arch which formed her Cupid’s bow. He had thought about the violet gloss she liked to wear on more pastel days which made her lips look soft and kissable. He had considered, in great detail, the deep purple matte she wore which gave her lips a pursed appearance. Not pursed as in judgmental or disapproving, but pursed as in waiting. Pursed as in gathered together the second before breaking into a smirk. He had reflected, Hamlet-like, upon the violent shade of purple-black, Tyrian purple it was called— he had looked it up, which matched her favorite mini skirt. He had tried to decipher these various colors as though they were smoke signals or Morse code: gloss, matte, matte, Tyrian, matte, gloss, gloss gloss. What did they mean? Was it a pattern? Would it repeat? 

Danny considered all these things while he looked at Sam on the roof of Casper high. It was one or so and there was no shade to be found on the wide, flat rooftop. He had sat to the left of Sam so the sun was behind her and he had to squint up to see her, hand veiling his eyes. 

“What?” Sam asked, her voice low. Danny always admired her infinite calm— she rarely raised her voice or let it betray a hint of nerves. When she was angry, it simmered. When she was nervous, it lowered. Danny smiled up at her, the sun a white hot halo bursting around her black hair. 

“I’m thinking,” Danny confessed. He pressed himself closer to her, the edge of his little finger grazed hers. He let it. He realized that he was still Danny Phantom. He had flown them up here through the rooftop, and now he wasn’t sure what to do. His breath hitched in his throat. 

“About?” Sam said. Her eyes were almost blue, and it stung to look at her set against the brightness of the sun.

“I’m thinking that if I’m fifteen minutes late it’ll count as an absence,” Danny stalled, “And that’ll come up as a skip. Which means Ishiyama will have my head. After my mom kills me.” Should he turn back? Would that make it weird? Would it ruin the moment? Or did Sam want him because of Danny Phantom? 

“Good thing you’re already a ghost,” Sam said, and she raised a canny eyebrow at him, drawing closer. She put her hand on his, and a jolt went through him. Perhaps, he allowed himself to think, she had been thinking about it too. 

“Maybe we should go to class,” Danny said, a last minute out. 

“We should,” Sam agreed, but she didn’t move away. Today she was wearing her trusted violet gloss. He was close enough to smell its perfume on her breath— lavender. “Danny,” she said.

“Yeah?” He said, and he could count every eyelash fringing her pale cheek.

“Change back.” 

Danny let out a grateful laugh and obeyed. He felt the change move through him like a shiver, the cold seeping from his stomach outward. He didn’t always notice it— usually he didn’t have time— but today it manifested in the sun feeling a little warmer, in the softness of his own parted lips. He was, in this moment, just a little more alive.

“Good,” Sam said decisively. “I’m not trying to get Danny Phantom to kiss me.” All he could see now were her violet eyes. She had blotted out the sun, the sky. 

“Who, then?” Danny said, closing the gap between them. Sam threaded her fingers through his hair, and her silver ring was cool against his temple. Her lips were soft against his, parting more gently than he would have imagined from Sam. His Sam. His hands found her waist and her skin was warm against his fingers. And somewhere the last bell rang and they broke apart— Sam blinked, dazed, as if she wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there. Danny had to focus very hard on not disappearing. 

Gracefully, Sam climbed off of him. She straightened her skirt, looking as close to a blush as Danny had ever seen her. Danny rose as well, unwilling to let her go so quickly. She smirked. 

“Your hair,” she said, reaching forward to fix it. Before she could pull away, Danny caught her hand and held it in his. 

“We’re not gonna be awkward, are we?” Danny asked quietly. 

“Never,” Sam said. She wasn’t quite meeting his eye. She still wasn’t sure. 

“Sam,” he said, and he held her fingertips to his lips. “I’m…” And he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m serious about you. I love you. I’ve waited to kiss you for so long. Nothing made sense. 

“Go to class,” Sam said, but her breath hitched a little. “We can talk about it after you don’t get suspended.” 

“Maybe tonight?” Danny said, raising an eyebrow. “I could sneak out?” 

“Romantic,” Sam observed. 

“We could… meet up at the graveyard?” Danny suggested, giving her a little bump with his shoulder.

“Oooh, capital R Romantic,” Sam said, “You know how to treat a girl.” 

“I’ll bring you flowers,” Danny went on, “Dead ones.”

Sam let out a little laugh and kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth. It was an almost-kiss. A ‘there’s more where that came from’ kiss. Danny’s heart did a little flip in his chest. Sam wiped the corner of his mouth gently with her thumb and his lips parted without him meaning to. 

“Lip gloss,” she said by way of explanation.

“I wonder how that got there,” Danny said. He pressed his lips together and tasted lavender. 

“Take me to class,” Sam said, threading her hand through his. Obediently Danny changed himself back and for once, he felt no difference. No taller or stronger as Danny Phantom. He felt exactly the same— incredible.

He held her close as he flew them down, invisible, into a never-used janitor’s closet. He ducked a head out to check there was no one in the hall, and then opened the door for her. 

“I’m staying after school to work on a project with Tuck,” Sam said, “But I’ll text you. Do you still have Tuck’s second phone?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotta get rid of this, anyway,” Danny said, gesturing to the thermos still in his backpack. “But I’ll come by around… ten?” 

“Midnight,” Sam said, “If we want to be really on brand.”

“Who needs sleep?” Danny said, grinning, and he meant it.  
They parted, Sam hurrying off to her class. When Danny slipped into the science room, the teacher spared him a friendly glance, marking him late on her computer without a remark. Danny barely noticed Dash’s ugly look as he took his seat, waiting, already for midnight. 

… 

“Danny!” Jazz called down the long, crowded hallway, waving her hand high above the clusters of students stowing books in their lockers before they dashed home. Had Danny been feeling anything less than post-kissing Sam bliss, a feeling he was just allowing himself to think he might luxuriate in again tonight, he would have ducked around a corner and possibly flown home, invisible, to avoid Jazz. But today he took a deep breath and remembered the more sensible and less flirty part of his conversation with Sam. He allowed Jazz to catch up with him. 

“Danny, there you are!” She said, absently stowing a teal sweater into her messenger bag. “Hey, can we talk—?”

“Jazz, I’ve gotta get home. I’m grounded, remember?” He offered her a smile which hoped was reassuring and not woozy. “Can we talk tonight?”

Jazz raised a reddish eyebrow at him, high and questioning. “You’re not just going to avoid me, are you?” 

“Scouts honor,” Danny said, raising his hand in a three finger salute. “I… I actually want your advice on some things.”

Jazz’s eyes grew huge— they were a beautiful liquid aqua. “Really?” Jazz said, her voice quavering in such a high, unsure note that it made Danny feel a tiny bit guilty. Maybe he should come to her more often.

“Really, sis,” Danny said. “But right now I gotta get home, okay?”

“Well, let me drive you,” Jazz offered, digging in her bag for her keys, “I just have to stop by the library and pick up—” 

“Jazz,” Danny cut her off, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend his ride home spilling his guts about Dash or asking his sister for dating advice. “I have to take care of that thing, remember?” He gave her a look. “It’s safer if I just take my usual shortcut.” 

“Right,” Jazz nodded, her eyes wide, and she gave him an obvious wink that made Danny remember why he had taken so long to tell her about his ghost powers. But he chuckled. 

“I’ll see you later, though, okay?” Before he could turn, he found himself once again being crushed to her in a brief hug. 

“Sorry,” she said, “I just. Be careful.” He hugged her back. He could feel something in the back of his throat— that lump of worry that lived there, but it would have to wait until later. 

“See you at home,” he called. 

When Danny flew home, he had to be careful not to change back so far away that he was spotted by his neighbors or passersby, but not so close that he set off the Fenton ghost detector. If his parents kept running out, ghost guns blazing, only to find a confused Danny on the porch, they might start to connect the dots. Usually Danny tried to find an empty alleyway or a dumpster to hide behind, and then change back there. He looked up at the sky— dazzlingly blue an hour ago— and saw that it was starting to gray. He frowned, hoping he and Sam wouldn’t get rained out and wondering where he was going to find dead flowers between now and then. Maybe he could get her a black rose; a bouquet, he thought, might be a little too much. 

“The prisoner has returned!” Danny called when he swung open the front door, but his words were cheery. 

“Daniel!” Jack called from the kitchen, “Don’t come in here! We’re having a hot dog situation!” His voice was only slightly panicked. 

“Danny, honey,” Maddie called, “Go up to your room and get started on your homework. Your father and I are— Dear God, Jack, that one’s getting away!” There was a loud pop followed by a smell of burning meat. They must have tried to use the Fenton sausage cooker again— with disastrous results. Not everything, Danny mused, needed to be infused with ectoplasmic energy. 

“Okay,” Danny called, before taking the opportunity to slip down into the lab. He couldn’t have wished for a better distraction. He quietly padded down the basement stairs, hoping his parents couldn’t hear him over their commotion, and then retrieved the Fenton thermos from his backpack. He switched on the ghost portal interface from sleep mode and punched in the password (his parents’ anniversary, a grudging hint from his long-suffering mother). He carefully locked the thermos into its anchor and clicked the eject button on its side. 

The screen blinked red and the screen read: EMPTY. 

Danny, frowning, pushed the eject button once more, a little harder. Again, the screen flashed that same message: EMPTY. It gave him an angry buzz. Danny changed into Danny Phantom, sparing the lab door a glance, and then quickly whipped the Fenton thermos out of the panel and uncapped it. He tensed, ready for a fight, but nothing happened. No ghostly presence oozed from its prison. Danny, skeptical, peered inside, careful to keep his finger far away from the trigger as not to get sucked in himself. It was empty.

Which was impossible. Danny had captured Peter Bell in the Fenton thermos and he had stowed it safely in his bag, which hadn’t left his side since lunch. Peter’s ghost had to be inside, but it wasn’t. Danny paced the length of the lab, the bottom of the Fenton thermos under his chin, trying to puzzle it out. Had he somehow switched the thermos with another? He double checked his bag, but there were only books inside. Was something wrong with the thermos? Was Peter Bell a magic ghost? He paced until he heard a faint knocking upstairs and realized, with a jolt, that it was coming from his mother. He flew quickly up to the second floor, landing in his room. He changed quickly and opened the door, carefully arranging his face in a confused look.

“Danny,” his mom said, “Why weren’t you answering?” 

“Sorry,” Danny said, “I had my noise cancelling headphones in. It was kind of loud downstairs.” 

Maddie gave him a guilty look. “Sorry, sweetheart. I just came up to tell you that the situation is contained but your father and I need to get some supplies. Do not open the fridge whatever you do. We’ll be back soon.” She turned to go, but Danny followed her down the fall.

“Oh, hey mom?” He asked. She made a small hum to show she was listening. “I’m doing this, uh, paper on… well it’s actually a film review— of that Japanese film I was telling you and dad about.” Danny felt he was really grasping at straws here but he continued. “And I was thinking of writing about how it was unrealistic from a ghost-catching perspective.” 

“That’s very clever of you, son,” Maddie said, “I’m sure your teacher will appreciate your commitment to paranormal science.” 

“Of course,” Danny said, “But the thing is… in the movie, the— uh— ghost thing?”

“Emotional imprint?” Maddie suggested. 

“Right, that, the emotional imprint gets sucked into a ghost trap. Kind of like the Fenton thermos, actually. And then it just… gets out? Which I thought was pretty dumb.”

Maddie made a noise in the back of her throat like the opposite of a scoff. “I have to say Danny, whoever wrote that film really knows their stuff! I’m impressed.”

“You are?” Danny said, heart sinking. 

“Not many people know that an ectoplasmic ion-powered trap could never hold an emotional imprint,” she said with buoyant approval. “An imprint is tied to a location, if you remember, and that’s where its animating power comes from. If it’s taken away from that location... think of it like trying to catch sand in a mesh sieve. It’ll leak out and return to its place of origin.” 

Danny felt a little nauseous. “So it would just go back to where it started?” He asked. 

“Yes, exactly. Is that what happened in the movie?” Maddie asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Danny said, praying against all odds that he was wrong. “It was.”

“Hollywood could take a lesson from foreign films,” Maddie said. She moved to go, but Danny blocked her path. 

“Wait, um, well can you tell me… how someone gets rid of an imprint then? So I can see if the film was right about that, too?”

Maddie gave him a little smirk, pulling her goggles down over her eyes. Danny saw himself reflected back in them, a mess of black hair and wide eyes. “You can’t just get rid of an imprint,” Maddie said, “They’re powered by memory, by emotion. The only way to get rid of it is to erase the memory or resolve the trauma. Which is almost impossible.” 

“Oh,” said Danny.

“Now I’ve got to run, Danny, but do your homework. And _don’t_ go in the kitchen.” Maddie spared him a pat on the head before she disappeared down the stairs. 

_Get out of the school,_ Danny texted to Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, his heart racing. _Now_. He hoped the message would come on time. He hoped they would have the sense to get as many people out as they could. 

Danny had to wait, miserable and useless, until he heard the front door close before he could make a mad dash back to the school, flying as fast as he could toward the haunted halls of Casper High. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and any and all comments or kudos. They mean the world to me. :) I hope you enjoyed this little romantic interlude before the story's climax. I had so much fun writing Danny and Sam, they really are the cutest couple.


	13. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny faces off against Peter Bell when he possesses a familiar face. 
> 
> Scroll to the bottom for content warning.

Danny flew through the quickly darkening sky, the sun disappearing behind pearl gray clouds. He felt a drop land on his cheek and roll down like a tear— rain. A storm followed close on his heels. 

The closer he got to Casper, the colder the pit in his stomach grew. He felt it widening like a chasm— a yawning gulf of cold, black dread. It inched up his spine like a dull shiver until his whole body felt heavy. It was Peter Bell’s power— that ice-cold fear overtaking him. Somehow, it was affecting him even now. Even in his ghost form. For a moment, it gripped his heart and he thought it— _I can’t do this._ But Danny shook himself out of it, thinking of his friends and his sister, praying they were out of the building and harm’s way. He ground his teeth together and flew straight through the front doors, ready for anything he might find there. 

At first, Danny thought the school was empty. He wondered, flying down the dark halls— the lights had gone out or perhaps they were on but they were not working properly, everything seeming a pervasive gray— if Sam and Tucker had somehow convinced everyone to leave. But then, why hadn’t they texted him back?

Danny realized his mistake when he flew past the English room and saw Mr. Lancer asleep at his desk, arms folded around him like a child. When Danny looked closer, peering through the little window set in the door, he saw that Lancer’s chest was heaving. He was sobbing. Danny frowned— Lancer was far from his favorite teacher, but he hated to see anyone crying. He bit his lip and flew through the gym where the football team was sprawled out on the floor, each crying quietly, and the same was true in the room where the D&D club met and the chess club. Danny flew through the library where he found Jazz at a computer, weeping. 

“Jazz,” he said softly, wondering what horrible thing she might be hearing. Who had ever bullied Jazz, easily the prettiest and definitely smartest girl in her class? But when he held her shoulders and tried to lift her, he saw that her eyes were blurred and unfocused and a steady stream of tears streamed down her pale cheeks. 

“Please,” she whispered in a soft voice, so unlike herself that Danny recoiled, “Please stop. Please, I’m trying—”

“Jazz, it’s me,” he said quietly, “Can you hear me?” 

But Jazz broke out into a fresh sob. “I’m sorry, Danny,” she said, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Jazz it’s Danny,” he said, hating to see his sister like this, “You’re okay.” 

“I’ll be better,” Jazz said, “I’m sorry,” but he didn’t think she was talking to him. Not really. He sighed, setting her gently back at her desk. He spotted Sam and Tucker next to the librarian, Sam was slumped over in her chair and Tucker had fallen on the faded blue library carpet. Both were weeping uncontrollably. 

“I’m going to find Peter,” Danny said, his voice wavering, “I’m going to end this.” But neither of them acknowledged him, each of them lost to their own private torment. Danny flew to where he knew Peter would be— the boy’s bathroom. The door was closed and still taped off for construction, although one strand of tape had come loose and swayed a little, as though it had recently been stirred. 

He made himself invisible, hoping he could sneak up on Peter that way. However, when Danny arrived, it wasn’t Peter he found in the bathroom— it was Dash. 

Even more curious, Dash wasn’t asleep. He stood at the sink, peering intensely into the bathroom mirror. When Danny peeked his head through the wall, he saw Dash’s eyes widen a fraction as though he could see him. Danny froze, not daring to breathe, and Dash’s lips curled into a sharp-edged smile, one which showed every last one of his perfect white teeth. 

“Well if it isn’t Peter Pan,” he said, voice dripping with derision, “Back from fairy land.”

Danny’s breath caught. He made himself visible, standing tall and meeting Dash’s eyes in the mirror. Only he knew it wasn’t Dash. 

“Peter,” he said, “Your name is Peter Bell.” Dash, or maybe the ghost inside Dash, flinched at the name. “You aren’t evil. You’re hurt. I get it.”

“Not what I heard,” he said in Dash’s voice, replying to an entirely different conversation, one that was seventy years old, “I heard your mouth is always open for business.”

Danny frowned. “That’s not you. That’s something someone said to you a long time ago. Something that hurt you. But that’s not you. You’re stuck, Peter. It keeps happening over and over again, a part of you is always here—”

Just like in the memory, Dash reached for his shoulder and, before Danny could react, dug into the meat of it. Danny cried out, jerking out from under him and propelling himself to the opposite side of the room. “Don’t,” he said, “I know you’re not trying to hurt me. I know you don’t want to, Peter. You’re caught. You’re caught in a loop and you’re hurting yourself— if you don’t listen to me, you’re going to be stuck hurting yourself forever.” 

Dash launched at him, seeking to plant a fist in his face. Without thinking, Danny made himself intangible and flinched at a horrible cracking sound that came from behind him. He whipped around to see Dash pulling his bloodied hand away from the cracked mirror. His face had broken into a lurid grin as he studied the obviously broken fingers, the sickening red which trickled down his arm. 

Danny’s stomach dropped. Peter was going to use Dash like a puppet, not caring what he did to him. If Danny wasn’t careful, he could hurt Dash just trying to dodge Peter. 

“You’re going to kill him,” Danny said, plaintive. He didn’t like the feeling of caring about Dash, but he knew he didn’t want to hurt him. 

“You really are a mystery,” Peter said in Dash’s voice, and Danny’s heart sank. “I don’t know why you keep pretending to be a boy— no one’s buying it.” 

“Please stop,” Danny said, “You don’t understand—you’re just making it worse. You’re hurting the rest of us with you.”

“I have to hand it to you, Fenton, you really must be brave. But if you knew what they were saying about you— that you’re just a freak looking for attention.”

Danny wanted to scream in frustration, in anger. He wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to bloody his own knuckles on Dash’s face. Because it wasn’t Peter who had said those words to him— it was Dash. It had been Dash that sent him running into the boy’s bathroom, trying to control his panic attack before English class. It had been Dash’s fault he’d run into Peter in the first place. 

“You know what they say about you?” Peter lifted Dash’s chin in a perfect imitation of his wretched arrogant tilt, “That you’re just a bitch looking for—” 

“Peter, stop,” Danny said. He didn’t yell it. He didn’t punch Dash. But he wouldn’t hear it. “Please stop. I don’t want to hear this anymore.” He felt so tired. 

Peter drew up Dash’s features in a look of confusion. 

“Why won’t you hurt him?” He said in a strange, quiet voice that he had never heard Dash use. “After what he said to you? Why won’t you hit back?”

“I was wrong to fight you,” Danny said, “And I would be wrong to hurt Dash. He’s an asshole, but he’s human. I don’t want his blood on my hands.”

Peter looked down at Dash’s hands— his broken one still dripping blood— frowning. “He said… such awful things to you. He hurt you.”

“He did,” Danny agreed. “He… he’s been doing it for a while.” Something clicked in Danny’s head. “That’s what made you appear, isn’t it? That’s what made you trash the bathroom? Hearing what Dash said to me.” Peter turned his face away, but Danny could see it reflected from a dozen jagged angles in the mirror. He still wore Dash’s face, but his features were set in an unfamiliar arrangement. His lips quavered, his brow furrowed. He could not meet Danny’s eye in the mirror. It was shame— Danny recognized it. And he could see that Peter, under Dash’s skin, was as fragile as the glass itself.

“I never fought back, either,” Peter whispered, his voice the warm rush of a confession. 

Danny did not respond, the words hit him harder than any blow. He thought he had been fighting back this whole time. Hadn’t he? 

“You were afraid,” Danny said. And for a moment he let himself feel that fear with Peter, that overwhelming icy dread which had threatened to eat him alive. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then swallowed it down. “The things they said to us… it wasn’t right. They were both wrong.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Peter said, and he turned to Danny, tears in his eyes. “He wasn’t wrong about me. I’m…” Peter trailed off, and a tear splashed onto the tile. 

Danny shook his head. “I meant that they were wrong to treat us the way they did. The way they do. We don’t deserve it— we don’t deserve to get treated like that. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Danny watched as Dash’s eyes— Peter’s eyes— welled with tears, but he didn’t look away. For a moment he met Danny’s eye, defiant and proud and shocked all at once. Danny saw himself reflected in Peter’s eyes, a streak of silver and black and ferocity, and he knew his words were true, burning inside him like a torch. 

Peter slumped down, his back against the wall. He buried his face in his hands. Danny forgot it was Dash— he reached for the other boy, one hand on his shoulder. Peter Bell sobbed, his whole body shaking. He sobbed like the rest of the people who were trapped in the school, he sobbed like he was dying of it. And it dawned on Danny that he wasn’t putting them to sleep or making them feel bad on purpose— it was his own sadness spilling out of him, seeping up from inside of him and drowning everyone else. It was a sadness that could not be hidden, but it could be shared. 

Danny sat down beside him, and put an arm around Dash’s bulky shoulders. He did not speak, but he held Peter as though he were an old friend. The way that Jazz had sometimes held him. He didn’t think about Dash, only Peter— just another boy who’d barely survived high school. In one way, Danny realized, he hadn’t. 

Peter looked up at him at last with wide, blue eyes. Dash’s eyes. “It wasn’t all bad,” he told Danny. “I had someone, you know. Before I died. We… we were happy, me and him.” 

Danny gave Peter a small smile. “What was his name?” 

“Will,” Peter said softly, his mouth forming the name in reverence. “You remind me of him a little. He was always so brave.” Peter frowned and looked around the destroyed bathroom. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he confessed, his voice faraway and thin as smoke. “I’m so tired of being here.” 

Danny nodded. “I know,” he said. “I think you have to let it go. I think you have to… choose to leave.” 

Peter closed his eyes, blond lashes wet against his cheeks. “What about you?” He asked.

“I’m not alone,” Danny said, and he knew it was true, “I’m gonna be okay.” 

Peter gave him one last brittle smile. He closed his eyes and rose, only this time it was without Dash’s body, which slumped harmlessly to the floor. The real Peter, or what was left of him, stood. The last faint memory, the whisper of the real boy. He walked toward the door and, before he could reach its handle, he simply went out— like a candle in a strong gust. And Danny knew he was gone when he felt the ice’s grip loosen around his heart. And then came the sounds of a hundred people waking up in shock. 

Next to him Dash stirred, confused and moaning. Danny had just enough time to change back before Dash turned, clutching his hand to his chest. He gave a choked cry of pain before realizing Danny was beside him. His eyes went huge.

“Fenton?” He cried, “What the fuck—?” His eyes watered. “What are you doing here? How did I get here?” He glanced from the guilty look on Danny’s face to his own ruined hand. Danny stood, nervous. 

“Listen, I—”

“Fenton, you’re such a fucking freak!” Dash yelled, clearly dizzy with pain. He tried to stand and swayed, but smacked Danny away when he tried to offer him a hand. “Don’t touch me!” He leaned his weight against the wall and climbed unevenly to his feet. “Shouldn’t you be in the little girls’ room, anyway? I’m surprised they let you in here, you fucking fag.” 

This was quite enough for Danny, who couldn’t believe he’d actually been worried about Dash’s life. 

“Fuck you, Dash,” he said. “This is your own fault anyway, you mediocre weasel dick.” 

Something flashed in Dash’s eyes and he wound back to strike. In the split second before Danny could decide to take the punch or risk going intangible, the bathroom door shot open. Sam and Tucker both appeared, both looking worse for wear.

“Danny!” They cried in unison, and Tucker pulled him into a hug before Sam could. Danny smiled. Dash staggered back.

“Ms. Manson!” Came a voice from the hall. Mr. Lancer appeared in the doorway, face still ashen. “Ms. Manson you have no business in the boys’ lavatory, let alone—” He stopped, taking in the state of the bathroom. The broken mirror. Dash looking like he was ready to kill someone. 

“What are you gentlemen—?” 

“That fucking freakshow brought me in here somehow,” Dash spat. Lancer frowned. 

“Mr. Baxter, watch your language. How did you hurt your hand?” Lancer said.

Dash looked down at his hand, eyes wide with pain. He didn’t know. Danny grit his teeth. “He tried to punch me,” Danny said, and the words were deliciously true on his tongue. “Dash tried to punch me and when I ducked he hit the mirror.”

Dash looked from his hand to the mirror, smeared with his own blood, and then back to Danny. Clearly he was doing the math and realizing that this would not be so easy to get out of. Danny bit the inside of his lip, then went on. “He tried to hit me again just when Sam and Tucker walked in— they saw it. And he’s been calling me a fag and a dyke every time I turn around.”

“Mr. Baxter?” Lancer said, turning to Dash, who was— for once— silent. “Is this true?”

“It’s true!” Sam said, eyes flashing quickly to Danny as though making sure it was okay. He gave her a small nod. “I overheard him saying some awful stuff to Danny more than once. Tucker and Jazz were there.” 

“And his arm was raised when we walked in,” Tuck added. 

“I… I want to file an official complaint,” Danny said, and it was as if the words themselves were magic. Another truth that burned hot in his chest. “I’m tired of dealing with him.”

. . . 

If there was one thing at which the students of Casper high excelled, it was forgetting. Traumatic ghostly encounters were swept under the rug. Run-ins with violent ghosts made of lunch meat or dated computer parts that did not result in a serious injury were easy for any freshman worth their salt to make themselves forget. Danny imagined that no one wanted to recall crying on the floor for an hour and so the student body moved from on the appearance of Peter Bell as briskly as possible. 

After Danny filed his official complaint, the school called his parents who had, of course, brought in Jazz. It seemed Jazz had been ready for a fight and she demanded to speak to the school’s Title IX investigator— whatever that was. She then reminded the principal and anyone else who would listen that supreme court cases were built on less. Ultimately, Danny didn’t need his sister the lawyer— Dash had already been suspended and might even get benched on the football team— but he was glad to have her on his side. 

“We’re proud of you, son,” Jack Fenton said when they got home, pulling him into a bear hug. “Your mother and I understand that you’ve been struggling and we’re glad you spoke up.” 

“Thanks, dad,” Danny said, unsure of what to say. He wanted to tell his parents how grateful he was, but his throat felt tight. He was always afraid another truth would slip out. For now, a hug would have to do. 

After a well-earned pizza he retired early to his room, bumping into Jazz in the hallway. 

“Hey,” he said, “Thanks.” 

“For going nuts on the principal?” She asked.

“For having my back,” he said. “For always having my back. You really are the best sister. For real.” Jazz looked like she was going to cry again, so Danny pulled her into a hug until he felt her get a hold of herself. Jazz finally pulled away from him, her eyes a little moist. 

“So are you still grounded?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “Mom made that super clear.” 

“Too bad,” Danny said, “I have a date later and I was hoping I could feel less guilty.” Jazz snorted.

“Did you finally ask Sam out?” Jazz said. Danny blushed. 

“Do you know where I can get a black rose?” 

. . . 

“I can’t believe you’re actually scared,” Sam said, laughing at Danny’s confession. She wore a black hoodie and tights— not exactly first date clothes, but it was freezing. The moon loomed huge and silver above them and illuminated their red checkered picnic blanket and the single black rose Danny had brought. He’d had to break into three florists, but he’d left money and a note. 

“I’m not scared,” Danny murmured, “I’m just… respectful. Of the dead.”

“You literally fight ghosts,” Sam said, laughter lending her voice a subtle warmth. 

“A ghost is totally different than a zombie,” Danny said, shuddering. “They’re all, you know, rotty.”

Sam let out a bark of a laugh. Her hand found his in the dark and she laced her fingers through his. Danny closed his eyes, overwhelmed by giddiness for a moment. “Okay, well if we see a zombie I’ll take the lead.” Danny leaned into her, breathing in that familiar and comforting lavender. Even in the moonlight he could see she was wearing a maddening hint of lip gloss. 

“Promise?” He said, looking up at her through his eyelashes. Sam kissed him. It was a breathless, messy kiss, one that hinted at a fulfilled wish. At longing. Danny wanted to stay in it forever, to make up for time lost looking for the perfect moment. 

“How are dates going to work?” Danny asked, lying back on the blanket. The chilled fall air felt delicious against his flushed cheeks. 

“Tuck can come along like 50% of the time,” Sam said. “We just won’t be those awkward people who kiss instead of talk while other people are around.”

“I hate those people,” Danny said, turning on his side to face Sam. She lay with her arm under her head and Danny longed to reach over and kiss her again. “I’m paying for at least half of the official dates.”

“That’s amenable,” Sam said. “But you have to become a vegetarian.” 

Danny let out a strangled sound before Sam burst into laughter. 

“I’m kidding,” she said. Before he could come up with a response, she reached out and traced his bottom lip with her ring finger and the sensation sent a delicate sort of thrill through Danny. He had to fight to keep his eyes open, to stay focused on Sam. She was smiling softly. 

“What?” Danny asked.

“It’s just,” she said, continuing to gently run her finger across the line of his lip, “I’ve always wanted to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: violence, blood, broken bones, bullying, homophobia/transphobia.
> 
> Well y'all, thanks for sticking with me through this fic. I absolutely loved writing it and the kind comments and every last kudo were so appreciated. Thank you for reading! :)


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